


Born to Run

by beardyswrites



Series: Run [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Banter, Canon Universe, Epic Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Girl Power, Gladers, Humor, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Protective Newt, Runners, Sassy Minho, Strong Female Characters, WICKED | WCKD Is Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 100,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardyswrites/pseuds/beardyswrites
Summary: It is two months before Thomas and Teresa will arrive in the Box.Meet Lesley, the girl sent up into the Glade under mysterious circumstances. Surrounded by boys, she must learn to work with the people around her if she wants to survive in a harsh world where certain death awaits those who venture into the ivy passageways of a gargantuan Maze ... a labyrinth that inexplicably calls to Lesley.But why does one of the Gladers not trust her? What ties does she have to the mysterious entity they call the Creators?And, above all, why doesn’t she remember any of it?





	1. Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!! I'm so excited to share this story with you all, I've been working on it for a while.  
> Without further ado!

Darkness. That was the first thing she knew. Darkness and stale musty air that seemed to clog her throat.

She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs caved; she was drowning. But where was the water?

There was no water. Only a hard metal grate beneath her body. She lurched upright and cursed when her head spun dizzyingly, vertigo seizing hold of her.

_A voice. Pulling, tugging on the verges of her consciousness; distant, insistent._

The words danced across her mind. An echo.

_“Love you too. Always.”_

Panic filled her mind. It was like she was staring at a blank canvas in her head. Not only did she not have the faintest idea who that voice belonged to, she _couldn’t_ remember. Not a smile, not a person. She couldn’t recall a _single_ face ... not even her own. She slapped her hands across her features; yes, she was still a person, a living entity.

Horror surged within her, bile rising in her throat. Names, faces, places ... they were simply _fading_. It was like attempting to cup water in her hands as she tried desperately to grasp at memories, moments she was not fully sure really existed. Slipping, slipping ... as if they had been drained out of her; making her feel _empty_ , like everything that made her feel like she mattered in the world was gone.

She couldn’t even remember how she had gotten inside the dark metal box in the first place.

She could remember the sun, the blue sky. She could picture rows of neatly lined houses, of people walking in a park with vivid green grass. She seemed to know how the world worked, but as soon as she tried to focus on something, it simply slipped away. Names became jumbled letters, faces became empty smears of colour, voices melded until she couldn’t tell one from the next. She couldn’t recall a mother, a father. There was just _nothing_.

Nothing but her and a suffocatingly dark, empty metal box.

“Hello?” she whispered raggedly, so hoarsely the word was barely audible even in the thick, oppressive silence.

And then she was suddenly rocketing upwards, a choked yelp of terror escaping her as she threw a hand out against the grated wall to steady herself. A shaft. She was in some kind of elevator shaft. Metal groaned and clanked and creaked all around her, the noises harsh and sending a wave of cold sweat over her body.

The cage lurched violently, sending the girl crashing to the grated floor, her back hitting one of the many stacks of crates and barrels that were stored in the cage around her. In the flashes of light, she saw one word stamped across all of them: _WCKD_.

At the adrenaline plunging through every nerve and crevice of her entire being, she was suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. She could feel her hair floating around her head in a wild and untamed mess of frizzy curls, thrown about by the rush of air. She could feel a dull soreness in her arms, and the side of her neck ached, but from what she did not know. The muscles in her legs were pulled taut, ready to propel her forward, to send her hurtling towards the nearest exit.

The only problem, though, was that there was no evident way out.

With a jolting shudder, the cage jerked to a stop and the girl was thrown several feet across the space, collapsing onto the grated floor with a strained cry of pain, eyes squeezing shut, teeth bared as she felt the skin graze where it made contact.

She lay there for a long moment, catching her breath, and then with viciously shaking limbs, she carefully maneuvered herself into a sitting position against one of the walls. When the pounding of blood in her ears began to lessen in the utter silence and stillness of the lift, that’s when she heard it. Sounds that threw her more than anything she had experienced so far in this short, short life that she knew.

She heard the distant babble of _voices_. Hollers, shouts, all faint and distorted but steadily rising in volume as if moving closer. There was the thunderous roll of moving footsteps from above her, almost like a stampede. It was terrifying, but it was her only chance.

“HEY!” she screamed, hoping desperately that someone would hear her. “HEY! LET ME OUT!” Her throat already felt raw. “HELP ME!”

Suddenly the metal box she was in was flooded with a blinding white light, so painfully bright she had to clamp her eyes shut, hurriedly throwing her arm up to shield her face from the glare.

“It’s a _girl_ ,” exclaimed an astonished voice.

There was a long moment of stunned silence.

“I guess we know what the Creators want us to do next.”

A wolf whistle.

“Cut it out,” came a sharp, disapproving voice, heavily accented.

A deep, rumbling laugh. “Alright, _you_ can deal with this one. The newbies aren’t as scared of you.”

“Good that, mate. Bloody hell, we got an _actual_ girl.”

She squinted her eyes, looking up against the light and seeing the silhouettes of about forty people by her rapid count, all of them crowding around the caged pit she was in. She blinked, the blur of faces abruptly coming into sharp focus.

And all of them were unmistakably boys.

She felt something plummet in her stomach, an uncomfortable, wretched feeling settling in her gut. The girl backed away into the corner as fast as she could, realising that there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide; everywhere she looked, there were people staring down at her, ogling, pointing, whispering. Her heart rate started to increase tenfold, her eyes wide as her chest heaved, her lungs desperate for oxygen. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t _breathe_ -

“Hey, hey, slim yourself down, nice and easy!”

“You’re alright, shank.”

_Slim yourself? Shank? Good that? Creators?_ The words spun dizzyingly through her mind, making it hard for her to focus. Where the hell _was_ she? _Who_ the hell was _she_? Panic clawed at her throat. Her hands curled into fists. She was going to pass out, or vomit -

One of the boys suddenly jumped down into the cage, jarring her from her hysteria. He was tall and lanky, a mop of blond hair covering his head. He wore brown pants and a lightweight off-white shirt, an orange singlet underneath. He had a young face, a sharp jawline; he couldn’t have been older than seventeen.

The girl pressed herself against the wall, the sharp metal cutting uncomfortably into her spine. “Stay back,” she choked out fearfully. Bizarrely, she realised just how unaccustomed she was to hearing her own speaking voice, rather than just screaming; it sounded strange, slightly deeper than she had imagined it would be.

He held his hands up, palms open, showing her that he didn’t have any weapons. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, softly, soothingly, like he was trying not to startle her. She realised that it was the same boy with the accent she had heard just before. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

The girl exhaled a shaky breath, flinching as the boy took a step closer. The other boys were silent, all of them watching. The tension in the air verged on suffocating, and her head reeled with the sheer panic flooding her.

“Now, the Box isn’t a very grand place to be stayin’ at the buggin’ moment,” the boy said with a kind, warm smile. “So, how about you let me help you get outta here, and we can explain everything. Good that?”

Every muscle in her body tensing, she stared at him, her eyes narrowing in clear confusion at his words. She didn’t know if she could trust him, if she could trust _any_ of them, but she didn’t have much choice either.

The boy cleared his throat. “Is that okay?” he clarified.

She swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few moments. Finally, she nodded, and the boy’s shoulders relaxed, relief flitting across his features. “Come on,” he told her, tilting his head. “You can use me as a step.”

When he didn’t move, that was when she realised: he was waiting for her to go to him. Slowly, she stood up and moved closer, her muscles aching with every step; he didn’t appear to be threatening, and his words had been nothing but kind ever since he had stepped into her cage. He smiled encouragingly and bent his knees to brace himself, holding his palms flat for her to stand on. After another moment of hesitation, she stepped onto the boy’s hand, wincing at the thought of causing him any discomfort, and pushed herself up towards the side of the cage, reaching for the concrete ledge.

Hands instantly grabbed her arms, hauling her up over the edge, and she just about cried with relief to not be in that small, metal prison any longer. She planted her feet on the grass and stood up properly, albeit gingerly, looking around at all the faces that were staring, looking at her ... and in some cases, leering at her. Her heart fluttered with fear and anxiety, suddenly feeling claustrophobic once again. The crowd seemed to press closer from all sides. Everywhere she looked were boys - _teenagers_. Dirty and shabby; overgrown hair and rumpled clothes.

“Alright, shanks, move over.” One of the boys stepped forward. He had dark brown skin and a thin stubble of black hair covering his head. He seemed older than the others, perhaps in his early twenties. He nodded in greeting, holding out a hand, standing tall despite being several inches shorter than her. “Welcome to the -”

And she was off, shoving through the crowd of teenagers and sprinting away at an almost frightening speed.

“Bloody hell!” she heard the blond boy laugh as he was hauled out of the cage behind her, but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t know why she’d started running. She wanted to get away, too many thoughts and questions careening around her head, the chaos in her mind overwhelming. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know. She didn’t know if she even _wanted_ to know what the hell was going on. Her heart thudded painfully in her ribcage as adrenaline rushed through her veins like an unstoppable tide. She focused on the soft ground beneath her shoes, the green grass. Running. _Running_ -

And then she skidded to an abrupt halt, suddenly seeing the simply colossal wall rising up in front of her, dark grey and covered in strands of ivy. She slowly turned in a circle, her mouth falling open in horror as she craned her neck, taking in every detail as fast as she could. She was standing in a clearing the size of several football fields, and the gargantuan walls completely surrounded them on all sides. There were also trees, forests, huts -

“Now that was a bit bloody rude, wasn’t it?”

She rapidly spun around, fists clenched and her eyes wide with fear. The blond boy who had started speaking to her first was walking towards her with a kind smile on his face, his body language open and unthreatening, just as it had been before. Despite his words, he seemed more amused than anything.

“As Alby was _saying_ ,” he emphasised, coming to a stop a few metres from her, “welcome to the Glade.” He stuck a hand out. “Probably should’ve introduced myself back there. I’m Newt.”

Inexplicably, the wild terror that had an iron grip on her body slowly began to fade as Newt stood there patiently, an expression of clear sympathy and comprehension on his features.Maybe ... maybe he _did_ understand. As before, he made no move towards her, letting her take the first step, letting her decide if he was worthy of her trust or not. And maybe because he was the first person to have shown her kindness so far, she found herself moving forward, carefully reaching out and grasping his hand, shaking it. It felt warm, calloused.

“I’m -” She stopped suddenly, her face paling even further as the revelations she had experienced back in the metal box came crashing down on her. She didn't even have a name to call her own, and that specific loss of identity crushed her almost more than everything else. “I-I don’t remember,” she whimpered, her bottom lip trembling as hot tears welled up in her eyes again. “I don’t know who I am, or - or _where_ I am -”

Newt shook his head, smiling kindly as he gently released her hand. “It’s alright. None of us did when we first got here. Just slim yourself down, nice and easy. You’ll remember your name in a day or two; that’s the one thing they let us keep, one thing that always comes back.”

_They?_ “What the hell kind of place is this?”

Newt beckoned to her. “Come on, Greenie. I’ll show ya.”


	2. A Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so begins First Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you all! Starting to get into the story now.

The vast field had many, many eyes, and not all of them were human. The girl stared unnervingly at the goats and chickens they passed, all of them pausing to regard her before going back to their feed; it appeared to have been freshly placed for them.

“Part of our food supply,” Newt muttered. “I’ll explain later.”

But they weren’t the only ones gawking. Despite the majority of the boys going back to whatever they had been doing before her sudden arrival - carving, cleaning, sharpening tools, woodworking - none of them passed up the opportunity to gawk at her as they went past, whispering to the other boys around them, pointing. She was suddenly very aware of the hormones in the air, and she felt very uncomfortable under the intense stares.

Glaring, Newt cleared his voice, loudly and pointedly, and several of the nearby boys scuttled away, snickering amongst themselves. “First, let me properly introduce ya to our leader,” he started, “since you bloody well scarpered back there before we had the chance to.”

“Sorry,” the girl mumbled.

Newt chuckled. It was a light sound that helped to soothe her anxieties. Goodness, it was such a _normal_ sound, in a situation that was so unusual she frankly didn’t know what to make of it. “To be honest, I’m buggin’ impressed. That was some dash you made earlier, not gonna lie. It was great!” he laughed.

They came to a stop, and the girl suddenly realised just who was standing in front of them with his arms folded; she gulped. It was the same boy with dark skin and a thin stubble of black hair on his head, the one she had run away from when he attempted to shake her hand. The girl winced, but if he was bothered by her previous lack of courtesy he didn’t let it show, keeping his expression neutral.

“This here is Alby,” Newt introduced. “He runs things good and proper around here, while I’m his second-in-command.”

The girl swallowed back her nerves - as well as her pride - and tentatively extended her hand. Surprise flitted across Alby’s face, and a moment later he reached out and shook it, offering her a small smile. His hands were also rough from labour. “Nice to properly meet you, Greenie,” he said, his arm dropping back to his side. “Now, can you tell me anything about yourself? Who you are? Where you came from?” A pause. “Anything at all?”

The girl felt her hands start to shake, the suddenly overwhelming empty abyss of memory hitting her. “N-No,” she stuttered, her eyes watering again. “I-It’s -”

Newt’s hand was on her shoulder in an instant, warm and firm. “What’d I tell ya, Greenie? Slim yourself down; you’ll start remembering soon.” He looked back at Alby pointedly. “I’m gonna take her up to the Outpost.”

“Good that,” Alby replied, “but we’ll need your help with the supplies sooner or later, just so you know. There’s still a lot to do before the party tonight.”

“Good that,” Newt repeated, steering the girl away. “Sorry about that,” he murmured once they were out of earshot. “He can be a bit blunt sometimes, ya know?”

The girl swallowed thickly. “Just tell me about this place,” she said sharply.

Newt didn’t comment; in fact, he seemed to have expected the confusion, the bitterness, the desperation. “Let’s get up to the Outpost first; it’s easier to explain it all when you can see everything in perspective. Back to work, you shanks!” he called suddenly, glaring at a group of boys who had gathered, staring. “You arrived a bit late today, Greenie,” he explained to her. “Usually, we have the supplies here and unloaded by midday. Considering we haven’t seen the likes of you before, I suspect that was the reason for your tardiness.”

They soon reached a massive, sturdy tree trunk near the forest on one side of the Glade, stripped of any branches. There were a series of platforms all the way up to the very top, each about two metres apart in height, and there were roughly hewn wooden ladders to reach each of the four levels.

Newt cracked an amused, crooked smile. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights, Greenie,” he said. He stepped up the first ladder and beckoned for her to follow him. “Come on, let’s go.”

As she climbed up after him, the girl focused on the rough feel of the wood beneath her hands in a desperate attempt to try and ground herself. This. The splinters she could feel pricking at her palms. _This_ was real.

When she finally poked her head up through the final trapdoor, with Newt offering a hand to tug her the rest of the way up the ladder, the view was surprising, and somewhat unsettling all at once.

The huge field was stretched out on all sides of them, with clumps of trees here and there, and seemed even more vast than it had from the ground. Now, she could properly see the different buildings: a shack in the corner; a long narrow building with rusting pipes jutting out of the ground beside it; a massive canopy with hammocks slung up beneath the rafters. And everywhere she looked, towering towards the sky, were the stone walls.

“Well, as I said, we call this place the Glade,” Newt began. “This is all we got, and we’ve all worked hard for it; respect this place, and it’ll give you what you need.” He gestured to the boys working down below. “We eat here, we sleep here, we grow our own food, we build our own shelter. We call ourselves Gladers. Gives us an identity we can hold onto and call our own; creates a sense of family like you wouldn’t bloody believe.”

All around, there were boys working together. One boy was roasting something on a stick over a firepit, grey smoke rising into the air. Another four boys were rhythmically sawing at a log, in perfect sync with one another. She was able to observe them properly now, without the fear of them gawking at her.

“We’e kinda split this place into four areas,” Newt said, drawing her from her thoughts. He lifted a hand, pointing. We’ve got the Deadheads there; a small forest if you fancy a stroll. On that side there we have the livestock, and the shack near the paddock is where we ... well, we gotta eat,” he shrugged, and that was explanation enough for the girl. “On the opposite side is where we have our gardens, our crops. The weather is generally kind to us, so we can grow pretty much anything we want out of our supplies. Lastly, that quadrant is our living area. We have the Homestead where we sleep and hang out. In the corner is our Council Hall where we hold meetings -”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Meetings?” she asked, finding it hard to keep the amusement out of her voice.

Newt chuckled. “We got a lot of shanks here,” he explained, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Sometimes it’s the best way to solve spats between the Gladers. Other times, we use it to make big decisions, like building another shack, or if we need to ration the food.”

The girl nodded in understanding. “And ... what about the - the cage? The elevator?”

Newt threw her a not unkind look that told her he had been waiting for that question. “In the dead centre of the Glade there is our lovely Box that you so elegantly came up in. Whatever we need, it provides - within reason - and the rest is up to us. Min tried to ask for a TV once, but that failed miserably,” he chuckled.

_Who was Min?_ she wondered. The girl stared across the field at the Box, where a bunch of boys were unloading barrels and crates full of supplies. Alby was nearby, pointing them in different directions and making notes on a scrap of paper.

“Once a month, the Box comes up with a new Greenie inside, just like clockwork,” Newt told her. “In the same shipment, so to speak, we get sent up supplies. Food, clothes, klunk like that.”

The girl frowned at that. “Wait, _sent_ up?” she repeated. “By who, though? Who even put us here in the first place?”

Newt pinched the inside of his cheek. “We don’t know,” he said finally. “The only clue we have is the letters that come up with the supplies.”

“WCKD,” the girl remembered.

Newt nodded. “But, for point of reference, we call them the Creators.”

Weirdly, the name made her feel calmer, the concept of an unknown identity sending them up to this ... _place_ suddenly seemed less overwhelming with a label to stick on them. She thought back to that moment in the Box, when she had seen all the kids crowding over her. “There’s really no other girls, is there?” she asked quietly.

Newt shook his head. “You’re our first ever girl. I would offer you some congratulations, but I doubt you’d buggin’ appreciate it right now,” he laughed.

The girl closed her eyes, tears pricking at them as she drew a shuddering breath. Where even was she? Who were these people, these boys, with their odd language and off-the-grid society? How long would she be here?

But, more importantly, _what_ had she left behind?

She fidgeted with her hands nervously. “ _Why_ , Newt?” she whispered brokenly, glancing down. “Why am I here? Did I do something?”

Newt seemed to sense immediately what she was talking about. “Now, don’t go getting yourself down, Greenie, alright?” he told her firmly, his voice low as he ducked his head to see her face. “We’ve all had the same thoughts; woken up alone in that dark box with not even a name to bloody well call our own. We’ve all had First Day; we’ve all felt the same. Just accept it all for now. It’ll be better in the morning,” he assured her. “I promise.”

The girl mulled the words over in her mind, her brow ceasing; for every question that Newt answered, it seemed to turn into ten more with the annoyingly vague replies. Her gaze drifted across the Glade as she inhaled the smells of the farm from below, her eyes tracing the gargantuan walls that surrounded the fields -

_Wait._

There was a gap between the slabs of stone on the other side of the Glade. Beyond it, she could vaguely see the dark passageway stretching away from them, clouded in shadow, dark drapes of ivy clinging to the stone walls around it.

“What’s out there?” she asked softly, squinting to try and see better.

Newt shifted, leaning against the railing as he turned to face her. “We’ve only got a couple of rules here, alright, Greenie?” he started, gaining her attention. Newt held up three of his fingers. “First, you gotta do ya part. Can’t have shanks slacking off around here.”

The girl looked at the various boys working in the surrounding fields. Everyone was doing something, she noticed; no one was idle. “Understandable,” she murmured.

Newt nodded. “Second, never harm another Glader. This whole thing only works if we trust one another. Good that?”

When the girl nodded, he continued, “And, last but not least -” His eyes turned dark, his head turning to look at the massive gap in the walls, “- you must _never_ go beyond those walls. Alright?”

There was something verging on frightening in the way he looked at her. Swallowing thickly, the girl simply nodded again. But there was a flicker of curiosity in her chest that somehow refused to be stamped down by Newt’s words, and that made her frown.

“Within the next week or so, you’ll swear an oath and have all that klunk properly told to ya,” Newt explained, “but you should at least know how things are run around here.” He shrugged. “It is only First Day, after all.”

“First Day.” The girl repeated the words softly. It was strange; for her, it really was the first day that she could remember. It was truly baffling, to know so much about the world but at the same time knowing absolutely _nothing_. Knowing what a movie theatre was but not remembering seeing a film; knowing what beef was but not remembering actually _eating_ it, or being able to recall the taste or texture.

“Take your time, nice and slow, Green-Gal,” Newt said kindly. “It’s a lot, I know.”

The girl’s brow furrowed. “Newt ... what do I look like?”

Newt tilted his head, peering at her. “You’re not an ugly shank, I assure ya. Blue eyes ... although I reckon they’ve got a little grey in there,” he added, squinting slightly. “Long nose with a button on the end. Your ears don’t really stick out.” He pursed his lips. “You’re a tall one; I’d say about six feet. You look about my age, give or take a year or so. Seventeen or eighteen, I reckon.”

“Seventeen or eighteen?” the girl repeated. She shrugged. “Feels about right.”

Newt smiled. “I’ll get you a bucket a water once we’ve got you all set up, okay, Greenie? So you can have a proper gawk at ya features.”

The girl laughed, and suddenly realised that it was the first time she’d heard herself make that sound. The thought alone was unnerving in itself. “Cheers.”

“Hey, Newt!”

The new voice from below had them both peering their heads over the edge of the Outpost. Newt immediately beamed. “Hey, Zart! We’ll be right down.”

“Good that!”

“Zart’ll be helping you put your hammock up,” Newt told her. At the flicker of fear in her eyes, he smiled reassuringly. “You can trust Zart; decent shank. He’s Keeper of the Track-Hoes.”

Her brow creased. “Track-Hoes?” she repeated.

Newt shook his head. “You’ll learn more about that tomorrow. To put it simply, we all play a part here. We’ve given ourselves jobs, chores to do; keeps up morale and all that klunk,” he told her, mouth pulling sideways in a smirk. “But, to answer your question, Zart works in the gardens. Growing vegetables, fruit. A Keeper is kinda like a leader,” he added.

Without another word, he swung down the ladder, lithe arms grabbing the edge of the trapdoor, and the girl followed a moment later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny going back through all of this. I've spent a lot of time on the third installment in this series, and it's one of the best things I've ever written. I'm enjoying going back to the start of my character's story! However that does mean, of course, having to explain everything before diving into proper plot etc.
> 
> ((To be honest, I've been working on this collection of fics for about a year now, because as you can understand with TMR, the entire universe interconnects and I had to make sure I had my main plot ideas and references in order.  
> Some chapters might be up faster than others, as I had more motivation to finish certain scenes more than others hahA.))


	3. Secrets and Slang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girl starts learning more about mysterious life in the Glade!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also introducing two other characters ...

Zart was quiet. He had already stuttered multiple times upon Newt introducing them to each other, but at least he seemed to respect her space. He was slightly taller than her but with a bulkier build that made him appear slightly awkward, and had thick blond curls atop his head. His round face seemed to be set in a constant frown, but it didn’t make him any less friendly.

“Welcome to our home,” he said without flourish as they stepped beneath the eaves of the Homestead.

The girl stared around with interest. It was a low bearing structure, only about twice her height, and it was spread out in a massive circle, a thatched roof and strong beams hanging over her head. Posts at regular intervals helped to hold the Homestead up, all about two feet in diameter, and there were no walls - the entire building was open to the elements on all sides. There were signs of life everywhere; a shirt thrown here, boots on the ground there, tools tossed haphazardly onto tables, chairs and benches littering small open areas. All around her hung limp crescents of cloth of all different sizes and colours: the hammocks. The Homestead was somewhat haphazard, for all its sturdiness; you could see where additional parts of the structure had been added over time to accommodate all the Gladers.

Zart led her towards the back of the Homestead, to a secluded corner - well, as much as you could get in an open concept sleeping area - that was slightly farther from the other hammocks. “Alby told me to set you up here,” he said.

The girl nodded. A flicker of movement and a flash of white caught her eye, and she turned her head to see Newt shooing several of the boys towards what she remembered as the Council Hall. It almost made her grin, but she couldn’t help the sense of deep-seated relief she felt; for a few minutes, at least, she was going to be left alone.

They made quick work of putting up her hammock - a piece of blue material that was more like a sheet than anything else, but designed to hold her weight. Zart told her where to sling the ropes, but insisted on tying the actual knots himself. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I let the first girl fall out of her bed in the middle of the night,” he mumbled, an explanation that had her laughing, the twisting anxiety in her chest slowly starting to ease.

Whatever he did, it was a success. She gave the hammock a try once it was slung up between two of the posts, and it cradled her body perfectly as she rocked gently from side to side. She tentatively offered a hand up to Zart, and he high-fived her with a grin on his own face.

“Take a walk?” Zart suggested, shoving the unused rope into the satchel he had slung across his torso.

The girl didn’t know what else to do, so she nodded. “Sure.”

Zart smiled, seeming to gain some confidence. “Fry’s been turning the pig all afternoon, might be able to get some scraps for you.”

She blinked, and simply smiled shyly back as they set off across the Glade together. She hadn't understood multiple parts of that sentence, but she figured it would become clearer soon. And speaking of that ...

“I, uh,” she started, clearing her throat. “You guys were tossing around some words when I first got here -”

Zart, to her astonishment, flushed a deep red. “Um, shuck, s-sorry about that,” he stuttered. “I - we - we just hadn’t seen a girl before. Not - not _here_ anyway - we weren’t trying to hurt your feelings - Doug was such a slinthead, and Wyck shouldn’t have whistled like that, what a shuckface -”

The girl blinked again. It took her longer than she would have liked to admit to catch on; she had barely been paying attention to the running commentary over her head whilst she had been in the Box, so consumed by terror and panic as she was. “No, no,” she cut him off hurriedly. “I, um, it’s okay. It’s fine. But, um. The slang?”

Zart stopped in his rambling. “Oh,” he said simply, shrugging as they meandered in the direction of the other shacks. “Well. What do I start with?”

“Slinthead?” she laughed, unable to help the noise bursting from her mouth. The word rolled off her tongue, harsh and unfamiliar.

“An insult,” Zart grinned. “Same with shuckface.”

“Shank?”

“One of us,” Zart replied simply. “A person. A friend.”

The girl nodded. “Hmm ... klunk?” she asked cautiously.

The other boy outright laughed at that, throwing his head back and letting the sunshine hit his face. “Newt might kill me for telling you the swear words, but I’ll humour you. Klunk is ... well ... crap, or poo -”

The girl sniggered at the clear embarrassment on Zart’s face at having to talk to a girl about such a distasteful subject.

“Hey, you asked, slinthead,” Zart shot back, but the smile on his face told her he didn’t mean it unkindly. “And then we have shuck, which. Um. Rhymes with duck.”

“Yeah, okay, I get your meaning,” the girl laughed, deciding to put an end to his clear discomfort. It wasn’t like she needed a further explanation for that one, anyway.

“Good that.” A wry grin. “Um, we usually say that when we agree with something. Slim it - shut up, but then slim _yourself_ is kinda like telling ya to calm down. You newbies are called Greenies. Or Greenbean.” A shrug. “We like to switch it up.”

“For how long?” the girl asked.

“Until the next person comes up in the box, of course. So ... a month. I’m pretty sure Newtwoulda told ya that.”

A shout caught the girl’s attention, coming from that mysterious gap in the slabs of stone. She turned her head, and that’s when two muscular boys emerged from beyond the walls, jogging in through the daunting gap in the Glade with a sense of ease, like they had done it many times before. Their faces were shining with sweat, clothes sticking to their toned bodies, and they were visibly panting.

Zart caught her staring and smiled. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to those shanks. You might as well start learning some names around here.”

“Hey, Zart!” one of the boys called. He was tall and sturdy with sandy blond hair. Beside him walked an Asian kid, his dark hair spiked up.

“Hey, shanks,” Zart replied, smiling as they continued to walk. “Thought I’d introduce you to our latest Greenbean.”

As they neared, the Asian boy’s eyes widened in realisation. “Wait -”

“Do my shucking eyes deceive me?” the blond boy cut him off. “You’re a girl!”

“I really hadn’t noticed,” the girl replied tightly before wincing at the harsh tone, inwardly cursing herself; she was supposed to be attempting to get to know the other boys here, dammit.

There was a low whistle from the Asian boy; he looked somewhat impressed as he folded his arms; he was one of the first people she had seen all day, apart from Newt and Alby, whose expression was mainly curious rather than leering.

The blond boy had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry. Bet you’ve had that all day.”

“She only arrived about an hour ago. The Box was late today,” Zart explained.

“Unusual,” he commented. “Not as unusual as a lady, though.” He stuck out a hand. “My name is Ben.”

Swallowing nervously, the girl reached out and shook it firmly. “Greenie,” she introduced bluntly, not knowing what else to say.

The Asian boy laughed. “I like this shank already! You’ll remember it sooner or later.”

The girl nodded. “Yeah, Newt was -” She frowned suddenly, thinking about what else the boy had told her. “I thought Newt said we couldn’t go out there?” she said, jerking a thumb at the Glade’s singular exit.

Ben smirked. “ _We_ can leave because we’re Runners,” he bragged cockily. “We map the Maze every day; know it better than anyone. Goes on for miles.”

The girl started in shock, her eyes widening. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. “Did you just say _maze_?”

Ben blinked, the smile rapidly sliding off his features, and the Asian boy grabbed his collar. “See you later, Greenie,” he called to the new girl before dragging Ben away. “What the hell was that?” he hissed at the other boy before moving out of earshot. “Your shuck ass gotta show off -”

The girl stared after them. “Maze?” she repeated weakly. Her head snapped around to stare at the gap in the walls, so much bigger up close.

And then she was moving, her legs carrying her towards the dark, ivy corridor before she was even aware of it, as if she were being pulled by a magnet.

Zart hurriedly jogged after her. “Woah, woah, wait, you can’t just go in there,” he told her sharply.

“Hey, I’m just looking -”

“You have to stay away from the Doors -” Zart suddenly grabbed the girl’s arm, his fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist.

She jerked away, stumbling backwards out of his grip as if she had been burned. Her heart was hammering in her chest; she barely knew this guy. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “You guys can’t just expect me to just _go along_ with this whole thing -”

The words were gushing out of her faster than she could comprehend, the blood pounding in her ears so loudly she could barely hear herself think; her voice was getting louder and louder to compensate as panic consumed her, her vision starting to blur.

“- WE’RE STUCK HERE AND YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME -”

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey!”

There was the pounding of footsteps, and the girl whirled around with wide, panicked eyes to see Alby running towards them, a familiar blond boy just behind him. “Slim it, Greenie!” he shouted.

Newt came to a stop beside Alby, the two of them only feet away from her. “Hey, hey, just calm down, Greenie, it’s alright -”

The girl barked out a harsh laugh. “Alright?” she repeated. “You guys are at the centre of an apparently giant _maze_ and everything is _alright_?”

“It’s for your own good -” Alby began.

Newt’s expression turned pleading, an arm raised out in front of him, reaching. “Come on, slim yourself down, nice and easy -”

“No, someone had better start talking and tell me what the _hell_ is going on here!” the girl shouted.

“Okay,” Newt nodded. “Okay, let’s just take a deep breath first. You look like you're about to bloody pass out -”

“That’s the least of my problems!” she snapped fearfully, her eyes wide with terror. Panic surged through her. All around them, other Gladers were starting to gather, coming to see what all the noise was, their expressions ranging from awe to twisted glee as they stared at her.

Newt seemed acutely aware of this, his gaze darting sideways for the briefest second. His expression softening, he took a step forward. When Alby and Zart did the same, the girl instinctively took a step back, her heels hitting the edge of stone that seemed to signify an invisible barrier.

It was then that Newt’s expression turned tense, nervous.

“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you,” Alby called, his voice suddenly stern. “Those Doors are about to close.”

The girl spun around to stare down the dark ivy corridor. “ _Doors_?”

A strange, howling wind rushed down the passage towards them, tousling their hair and clothes. The girl felt her throat tighten, her eyes wide.

There was the thunderous sound of creaking metal, making her jump fearfully, and then impossibly, unbelievably, two of the immense stone walls began to move.

The girl scrambled backwards so fast that she tripped over her own feet, crashing heavily to the ground on her butt as she stared upwards with wide, horrified eyes, feeling her chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia.

“Hey, hey, Greenie, it’s okay!” Newt shouted, rushing forward and crouching beside her, clamping his hand down on her shoulder and grounding her.

The girl could hardly believe what she was seeing; if it wasn’t for Newt’s presence, she would have thought she were hallucinating. The gargantuan stone walls, hundreds of feet high, were _shifting_ towards each other, sliding along grooves in the ground that she hadn’t noticed before. The sound was incredible, a roar in her ears like a jet engine, muffling everything else as the grating of rock sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end, goosebumps skittering across her bare arms.

_But, what reason did the Doors have to close?_ she wondered, a bolt of icy fear shooting through her veins at the thought. _Was it to trap them inside? Was it to protect them? Was it to keep something_ out _of the Glade?_ Her head spun nauseatingly at the sudden surge of questions.

_Ten, eight, five, two feet -_

An echoing boom sounded across the Glade, rattling through the girl’s bones as the Doors slammed shut and the air finally fell quiet. The spectacle over, the other Gladers began to wander off.

Newt slowly got to his feet, and a moment later he offered his hand to the girl, helping her to stand. “First Day freakout,” he told her quietly. “Happens to all of us.”

The girl swallowed hard, suddenly unable to look at Newt. “Sorry,” she mumbled, ashamed by her outburst.

He hesitantly reached out and put a firm hand on her shoulder. “It happens to all of us,” he repeated with a kind smile. His voice was soft, his words meant just for her ears. “There’s a lot to take in, and a lot to explain. In time, we’ll answer everything you need to know, alright, Greenie? But for now, we’ve got a party to get ready for. Come on.”

He turned and started off towards the Homestead, favouring his right leg slightly. The girl stared up at the colossal Doors for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of questions, and then followed after Newt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quality Zart content! I always liked him as a character and wanted to write a little bit more in (plus, it'll make sense for one or two things later on *no spoilers* ;) ) It was a heap of fun, explaining all the slang - and also fun and games getting her hammock sorted!
> 
> Also, introducing Minho and Ben! Loved putting that in, and getting to see a little more of Ben's character. Being able to write more character interactions has been such a joy, since you don't get to see that in the movies/books once Thomas arrives. It's been great going back to how the Glade was before things went messy, when this was just another day in the life for the boys.
> 
> Thank you for reading another chapter! Please feel free to leave comments/kudos! My writer's soul craves feedback.


	4. Mischief, Moonshine and Mazes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt does some explaining, the Gladers are drunk, and our girl makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favourite chapters to write, and also one of the longest! Hope you all enjoy it x

The pounding rhythm of drums filled the air, mixed with hollers of delight and loud hoots of laughter. Flasks of liquid were being passed around amongst the boys, and everyone seemed delightfully merry, or - dare she suggest - _drunk_. Plates of food were being devoured, the Gladers simply inhaling the delicious smoked meat that graced their metal bowls.

Sitting by herself on a lone log a short distance from the roaring bonfire, the girl finished the last of the bread on her plate, taking in her surroundings and simply observing. The boys standing in various groups around the fireside genuinely seemed to be having fun. It was an odd thought, after the wretchedness she had woken up with in the Box, when it had felt like the world was falling apart around her. She still felt lost, like she was searching for something but didn’t quite know what, didn’t know how to place it. Maybe it was the yawning chasm in her memories. The emptiness inside her was like a crushing darkness, one she didn’t have a light to chase away with.

Maybe, just like Newt had said, it truly was a thing that passed. That you learned how to live again. Here, in this picturesque meadow, where the sun shined down on them, and they worked, and they had fun. These Gladers certainly seemed to have learned how to escape the torments of the pasts they couldn’t remember - either that, or they were better actors than she gave them credit for. They had one another. A _family_. Not one of blood, but one that they had built together nevertheless, and perhaps that made the ties between them even stronger.

There was a unexpected distant rumbling noise in the darkness, making the ground shake beneath her canvas shoes the smallest amount, quivering ever so slightly. She looked towards the Doors, brushing her hands off as she put her plate down, a frown settling on her features. There it was, that faint pulling, that strange sensation that she simply couldn’t describe when the word _maze_ popped into her head -

She was startled from her thoughts by a jarring movement. Newt flopped down beside her, a meat kebab held nimbly between his fingers, nails caked with dirt. “Hell of a first day, eh, Greenie,” he commented with a kind smile.

She raised her eyebrows and exhaled deeply. “That’s an understatement,” she mumbled, making Newt chuckle.

“Any of these shanks been bothering you?” His gaze was both sincere and apologetic as he looked at her. “They’ve been so bloody deprived of the fairer gender that I thought I’d have to restrain the buggers, lock ‘em all in the Slammer.”

Despite it all, she laughed. She had no idea what the Slammer was, but she could guess its purpose. “Well, I appreciate you trying to defend my honour.” She sighed. “Just wish they’d stop staring. Makes me feel like a freak.”

Newt reached out as if to touch her shoulder but stopped himself quickly, instead lifting his hand and running his long fingers through his already tousled hair. “Sorry about that,” he replied earnestly. “They’ll get used to you in a day or two. Just ... let me know if the slintheads get on your nerves.”

“Thanks,” she answered, giving him a small smile. After a moment, her eyes drifted to the walls again. “There’s something out there. I just don’t know what.” Her voice was a murmur, but laced with curiosity.

Newt stiffened beside her. “Trust me. The Maze is a dangerous place.”

The girl was quiet for a long moment. She swallowed hard. “We’re really trapped here, aren’t we?” she whispered fearfully.

Newt gave the smallest nod, not appearing too discouraged. “Well, yeah, for the moment,” he told her. He pointed across the fire. “But, do you see those guys?”

There were five of them, each with a strong and muscular build. Sat amongst the group was the Asian boy, his face set deep with concentration as he scribbled something down on a scrap of paper. Sitting near him was Ben.

“Those are our Runners,” Newt explained. “That guy in the middle there, the Asian shank, that’s Minho. He’s their Keeper.”

The girl nodded. “Yeah, I met him and Ben earlier,” she winced. It hadn’t been her greatest interaction with the people in the Glade so far, but she supposed it was going to take time for her to adjust. Well, clearly, for _everyone_ to adjust. At least she now knew the Asian boy’s name, given he hadn’t had the chance to introduce himself. “What do they do out there anyway?” she asked suddenly, clearing her throat.

Newt’s brow creased for a moment at the change in her expression before he continued speaking. “Well, every morning when those Doors open at dawn, they go out there and, uh, _run_ the Maze, as we so creatively put it,” he told her. “Mapping it, memorising it ... they run every corridor, every passage, trying to find us a way out of here.”

The girl frowned deeply, thinking of how settled everything and everyone was in the Glade, how organised they were from their roles, to their food supplies, to their way of life. They had all been there for an extended period of time, she was sure of it. “How long have they been looking?”

Newt didn’t blink. “Three years.”

She started, her expression changing to a mixture of fear and horror. Despite asking the question, the answer had thrown her severely. _Three years_. Well over one _thousand_ days in a big grass field with nowhere else to go. She would have figured a year, at most. 

But then realisation hit her. _Of course_. Perhaps the shock was making her slow. One Greenie a month ... it added up when she thought of just how many boys there were in the Glade. “And you’re telling me they haven’t found _anything_?”

To her surprise, Newt laughed. “It’s a lot easier said than done, you shank. Minho would have a _field_ day if he heard you say that.” He held up a finger, his gaze drifting skywards as the amusement decorating his expression faded. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, “and listen.”

He fell silent, and she did as asked. The distant rumbling sound like thunder seemed to intensify, combined with an odd creaking noise that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. She shivered involuntarily.

“Hear it?” Newt asked softly.

She nodded slowly. “What is that?” she breathed, lids fluttering open.

Newt’s features looked almost elfin in the firelight, his gaze intense and unwavering. “It’s the Maze, _changing_. It changes every single night,” he told her matter-of-factly, settling back on the log.

She stared at him with wide eyes. “How - how is that even possible?” she whispered, the words choking out of her. “How can pieces of stone just _move_?”

But she had seen the unimaginable herself. She had witnessed the Doors slamming shut only an hour earlier. The grooves in the ground helped to shift the stones, but they weren’t sentient, the _couldn’t_ be; who would push a button to trigger such an event? And beyond that, an _entire_ maze?

Smirking, Newt gave a small shrug. “You can ask the people who put us in here, if you ever meet the bastards.”

He was silent for a moment, chewing on the last of his kebab. As he finished his food, he sighed heavily. “Listen, Greenie. The truth is, those Runners there are the _only_ ones who really know what’s out there beyond the walls. They’re the strongest and fastest of us all, the best of the best and chosen specifically by each Keeper.” Newt’s voice suddenly became more passionate, his eyes alight. “And it’s a good thing, too, because if those shanks don’t make it back before those Doors close at sunset, then they’re stuck out there for the night.” A look of fear flashed across his expression, so fast it was almost nonexistent. “And _no one_ has ever survived a night in the Maze.”

“Oh,” the girl breathed weakly, horror rushing through her. Her eyes drifted to the Doors, wondering fearfully just what could be out there, wondering how people could simply die in a seemingly harmless labyrinth. The thought was faintly nauseating.

_What the hell was out there?_

For a reason that she couldn’t explain, as she stared at the Doors a wave of determination swept over her, to find out what was out there ... to _get_ out.

Perhaps Newt saw it, for a second later he slapped his leg. “Right, well, that’s enough questions for one night,” he said. “Come on. Listen, you’re supposed to be the guest of honour! Our first girl!” He smiled warmly. “It’s time to celebrate. Can’t have you moping over here by yourself.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she started, anxious at the thought of bothering him when the rest of the Gladers were having such a good time, and simultaneously terrified at the thought of being the centre of attention once again.

“No! No, come on.” Newt started to get to his feet. He offered her a hand. “Let me show you around.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Newt first led her over to a hut where a plump, dark-skinned boy was cooking some meat over a small fire. Another boy stood with him under the crude shelter, and both of them were also keeping an eye on various stews they were preparing in an assortment of pots and bowls.

“Here, Frypan!” Newt called with a smile, gaining the boy’s attention. “Could ya remind my friend here what bacon tastes like?”

Frypan chuckled and picked a piece of meat off the makeshift gridiron, holding it out to her. “Here you go, m’lady. Fresh of the grill, just for you.”

_My friend. M’lady._ The girl felt a warm feeling in her chest, how the boys - for the most part - were welcoming her into their group with open arms. Sure, Newt’s words had been a figure of speech, but the sentiment was there all the same.

Taking the food nimbly, the girl took a small bite, Newt watching her with a hand on his hip and an amused smile on his face. At the sudden, glorious taste of seasoned and charred meat that filled her mouth, she immediately stuffed the rest of the sample in her mouth, eyes wide. “That’s good,” she told Frypan, swallowing. “Oh, boy. That’s _good_.”

Frypan and Newt laughed. “Eat up, Greenie,” the cook smiled, passing her another strip of meat. “You’re gonna need all your strength to work in those fields tomorrow, trust me.”

She smiled, taking another bite of food. “Thanks,” she said.

Newt put a careful hand on the girl’s shoulder and began to lead her away. “Come on. Thanks, Fry!” he called.

“Don’t mention it. See? The Greenie likes the pork!” he exclaimed happily to Zart, who was leaning against the hut beside him, munching on a cob of corn.

“She doesn’t know what real food is!” one of the boys laughed.

Frypan grinned. “Yo, man, my pork is _always_ tender!”

There was a round of catcalls. “Not like that!” Frypan groaned. “Gonna put your shuck asses on rations at this rate ...”

The girl’s laughter at the distant banter quickly faded as she thought about what Frypan had said. “I don’t - um, I don’t really know anything about gardening,” she admitted, glancing uncertainly at Newt. “Or _anything_ , for that matter. I don’t exactly have anything to offer you guys.”

He gave her a kind smile, his hand still placed lightly on her shoulder. For once, she didn’t mind the contact; it was a source of comfort that kept her grounded. “That’s alright,” Newt reassured her. “Don’t worry about it too much. We’ve learned that it’s best to let the newbies try their hand at everything until we decide what they’re best at.”

Comfortable silence fell between them for a few, contemplative moments. “So ... who does what around here?” the girl asked, genuinely curious.

An eager expression lit up his face as he looked around and began pointing at the various groups gathered near the bonfire. “Over here we got the Builders. Very good with their hands -” Newt smirked and tapped his temple, “- but then not a lot going on upstairs.”

The girl laughed. “Who’s their Keeper?”

“Gally,” Newt answered. “The shank who’s been wrestling everyone all night. Him,” he added, pointing to a boy in a brown shirt with short dirty blond hair and wicked eyebrows. He was downing a mug of something.

“You’ve already met Frypan; he’s Keeper of the Cooks,” Newt continued.

The girl raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Is that his real name?”

Newt laughed. “Nah. But when he came up in the Box, the shank attacked everyone with a bloody frying pan, and the nickname had stuck by the time he remembered his name.” He shrugged, grinning. “He told me he prefers it.”

The idea was absurd to the point of hilarity; the girl cracked a grin in return, intrigued by the little insight into daily life in the Glade. It gave her a sense of comfort that she clearly hadn’t been the only one who had experienced a panic attack upon arrival.

“And then we got Winston,” Newt called as they passed a boy juggling knives as some of the other Gladers cheered him on. “He’s the Keeper of the Slicers. Meat and all that klunk.”

The girl nodded. “He seems talented.”

Newt laughed. “Yeah, he’s one of a kind.” He pointed to the two boys walking towards them. “And we got two Med-jacks, Clint and Jeff!”

“Oh, hey, what’s up?” Clint greeted, shaggy brown hair falling around his round face.

“Yo, Newt!” Jeff called. He had darker skin and was far lankier than his partner. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Just showing the Green-Gal around,” Newt told them, smiling as he jerked a thumb at the girl standing beside him.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Jeff said with a grin.

Both boys reached out their hands to her, and after a moment of hesitation and a nod of encouragement from Newt, she shook them warmly. “Back at you,” she smiled.

As the Med-jacks walked away, Newt chuckled. “They spend most of their time bandaging up the Slicers.”

As if on cue, there was a yell of pain from the direction of the Slicers, followed by a chorus of swearing and laughter.

The girl grinned. “Yeah, can’t imagine why.” She glanced sideways at Newt. “So, uh, what if I want to be a Runner?”

Newt came to a halt. He raised his eyebrows, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Now, I know you girls think differently to us shanks, but did you even hear a word I said before? _No one_ wants to be a Runner. Besides,” he added, “you gotta get chosen.”

“Chosen? By who?” the girl pressed.

“Hey, Newt!” Gally called. He raised his drinking cup in the air. “Has the Greenie tried any of this stuff yet?”

“Nah, Gally,” Newt replied. “You’re just in time. Come on,” he told the girl beside him, beckoning her to follow him and indicating that their conversation was over for now. She decided not to push it.

The two of them joined the circle of Gladers standing near the massive bonfire, the heat pleasant against the girl’s skin. Frypan - who had since joined the gathering - passed Gally an empty mug and the boy filled it to the brim with liquid from a metal jug. “You’re gonna love this,” Gally said, turning around to face the girl standing before him. “We only ever drink it on bonfire nights. Glader specialty.”

The girl carefully took the full cup as it was passed to her, staring hesitantly at the dark contents. “Should I be worried?” she joked nervously. 

Newt laughed, shrugging. “It puts some hair on your chest ... more or less,” he grinned at her, realising that the analogy probably didn’t exactly apply in that situation.

_More or less._

Smirking, she raised the mug to her lips and taking a hefty swig. At the sudden bitter taste that hit the back of her throat, bubbles surging up her nose, she rapidly spat out her drink in an undignified spray, coughing and spluttering as good-natured laughter and cheering rose up into the air, the other Gladers gathering around her to watch.

“What _is_ that?” she choked out, her eyes watering. “Is that _petrol_ or something?”

_More or less._

“I don’t even know,” Newt laughed. “Gally’s recipe. It’s a _trade secret_ , or so he keeps telling us.”

Snickering loudly, Gally clapped the girl warmly on the back. “Happens every time, shank,” he grinned. “You’re not the first by a long shot.”

_Why were those three words sticking in her mind?_

As she fell quiet, her coughs subsiding, Newt’s brow creased in concern, ducking his head to see her expression properly. “Hey, you okay, Greenie?”

_More or less._

_A tangible memory on the verges of her mind, just out of reach._

_Stretching. Searching._

“Okay, what’d you put in the moonshine, Gally?” Minho laughed, but there was a touch of concern to his tone as he stepped closer out of the darkness. “Snap out of it, shank. You’re alright.”

_Less._

_Les._

Her eyes widened. “Lesley,” she whispered, her words barely audible.

Newt frowned. “Come again?”

“ _Lesley_.” She looked around at all the boys staring at her, her expression lifting. Tears sprung to her eyes again, but for the first time that day, they were made of pure and utter elation. “My name! It - it - it’s Lesley!” she exclaimed. “I-I remember!”

Newt and Minho both beamed, and a smile pulled at Gally’s mouth.

Lesley laughed. It was a loud, infectious sound. “I’m Lesley!” she crowed joyously into the sky, wanting the world to hear her. It felt like a part of her soul had settled into place, a part she hadn’t realised just how desperately she needed. It wasn’t all of her memories, but in that moment, it was _enough_.

The air suddenly exploded with cheering, laughter and hollers and shouts rising up into the night. “Les-ley! Les-ley! LES-LEY! LES-LEY!” the Gladers chanted as their feet stamped the ground; a drumbeat, a heartbeat. The life force of the Glade.

“To Lesley!” Minho roared.

Drinking mugs were thrown in the air, arms raised high in a toast - she realised incredulously - to _her_. “TO LESLEY!”

Frypan clasped her forearm. “Welcome home, Lesley,” he grinned.

Hands clapped her on the back, and Lesley laughed and laughed as she shared in the smiles and cheer of the Gladers around her, Alby, Gally, even Ben and Zart offering their congratulations with wide grins on their faces. As the boys hoisted her up on their shoulders, she suddenly had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she belonged there.

“LES-LEY! LES-LEY! LES-LEY! LES-LEY!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some little bits are based on movie dialogue/scenes, and then I've just added to it. Because, to be fair, what Thomas asked was really the main things anyone would want to know.  
> Also, the deleted scene!! Wanted to work that in somehow since it wasn't in the film, and it's one of my favourites. Partly for more Glader interactions!!
> 
> Anyway, she now has a name! Made me smile so much writing the reveal.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments/kudos! My writer's soul craves feedback.


	5. One of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers, breakfast bants, Lesley sees her handwriting for the first time, and Mama!Newt tells the Gladers off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Got a bunch of stuff happening these next few weeks so don't know when I'll update, so decided to put this up sooner than I was going to.  
> Enjoy! xx

Someone shook Lesley’s shoulder, dragging her from the comfortable depths of slumber, from the blissful, warm escape of sleep. She frowned at the contact and groaned quietly as she became aware of the dull pounding in her skull. “What?” she grumbled.

“Not really a morning person are ya, Les?”

Lesley peeked an eye open to see Newt leaning over her, grinning. “You are _way_ too cheerful this early in the morning,” she commented.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Today you’re gonna get a proper peep at our way o’ life here, good that, shank? They’re gonna be calling the wake-up soon.”

“You showing me around?” Lesley mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of her new hammock.

Newt shook his head. “Nah, that’ll mostly be Alby. Frypan’s got some food ready for you in the Kitchen; Alby’ll meet you there. Want me to show ya where the bathroom’s at?”

Lesley laughed. “That would be appreciated.”

Her feet hit the grass and she froze.

Memories of the previous day hit her like a freight train, punching the air from her lungs. An elevator, rising faster and faster in the darkness. Unfamiliar faces, running, _running_ to get away. Walls rising, stones shifting in a simply impossible manner.

It hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t been a nightmare that her overreactive imagination had conjured up from the depths of her mind, latching onto her fears with gnarled, clawed hands. It had _happened_.

_First Day._ It truly had been. She had no recollection of a life before that. Not a home; not a family; not the sound of her mother’s voice. She felt her chest tightening, tightening. Oh, hell, the world was spinning, she couldn’t breathe -

But then it stopped.

It _stopped_ , settled, like the iron band around her torso abruptly snapped.

She remembered waking up in the Box. She remembered all of the confusion, the horror that had swept through her like a crushing tidal wave, drowning out everything else.

_But_.

She also remembered last night. She remembered the warmth of the bonfire, the laughter ringing in her ears, the proud hands clapping her on the back, the grins on the other Gladers’ faces as she spluttered on the moonshine. There were the kind, friendly voices, encouraging her, soothing her anxieties; the voices of boys who had shared her pain once upon a time, who wanted to help her.

She let the memory of those moments fill her up, hope seeping into her body and shining a light on the bitter, angry darkness that lurked in the vestiges of her mind, and momentarily banishing it. She’d seen the Gladers together. And more than anything, she desperately wanted to be a part of that, to _belong_. It gave her a reason to _fight_.

“Hey,” a voice called. “Hey, hey, hey, hey.”

She came back to the present. Newt was crouched in front of her. Even in the dim grey light of false dawn, she could see his brown eyes flickering with concern.

“You still with me, Les?” he asked softly. “You good, Greenie?”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “I think so?” she said tentatively. She reached up and massaged her temples. “My head hurts from thinking too much. Or it might just be the alcohol.”

“Told ya it was a lot to think about,” Newt laughed warmly, gripping her shoulder. The sympathy, the heart shattering _kindness_ in his eyes made it seem like he could read every thought going through her mind; not only that, he _understood_ it. “Come on, slim yourself, nice and easy. You’ll feel better after a shower, trust me. A shower, and breakfast.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

There was already a small group of people gathered on the log seating area in front of the Kitchens by the time they arrived; Alby, the chef himself, and all five Runners. Looking up as they approached, Minho nodded at Lesley, and Ben threw her a wave; tentatively, she smiled back.

“Hey, it’s Sleeping Beauty!” one of the taller Runners, Chad, called out around a mouthful of food.

“How’s the head this morning?” Ben asked cheerfully, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m gonna punch you all,” Lesley grumbled without heat, and the other boys sniggered. She suddenly wondered at what point during the previous night she had become so comfortable with the Gladers. It must have been somewhere between the second and umpteenth drink she had downed; it clearly hadn’t been a secret that she’d consumed a good portion of their alcohol supply, she’d been so caught up in the cheer of the moment, letting herself drown in the intoxicating warmth and laughter. Whatever had happened, though, it had somewhat broken the ice between all of them; her conversations weren’t nearly as stilted as the previous day. 

“Watch this one,” Newt smirked. “She’ll stab you all in your sleep if you’re not careful. I already got a bloody earful just for waking Her Royal Highness,” he added, wincing dramatically.

This time, Lesley _did_ throw a light punch at his shoulder. Minho choked on his breakfast, his expression turning positively _gleeful_.

“Eat up, Greenie,” Frypan chuckled, passing her a bowl.

Lesley peered at the contents. It was a pile of scrambled eggs and bacon, the latter presumably leftovers from the previous night. The smell was absolutely _divine_ , and she felt her stomach rumble quietly, desperate to eat. She grinned. “Thanks, Fry.”

He tipped an imaginary hat at her, making Newt and Minho snort with laughter, and Lesley couldn’t help how the smile on her face widened.

“You shanks are ridiculous,” Alby told them firmly, but the corner of his mouth was turned upwards in amusement.

His mirth subsiding, Minho glanced at the clear, violet sky, then down at his watch. He stuffed his last piece of bacon into his mouth, leaving his plate bare. “Time to go,” he said. Ben nodded in acknowledgment.

Newt stood up, brushing off his hands and setting his empty plate aside. “I’ll walk you out,” he said. “Thanks for the food, Frypan.”

With that, the five runners plus Newt went off in the direction of the Maze entrance. Distantly, there was a loud rumble that shook the earth, and the Doors slowly began to open. Lesley watched, her jaw dropping open with her food halfway to her mouth as she stared at the gigantic slabs of stone. They slid gracefully to the side, dramatically revealing the path that was set out before Minho and the rest of the boys, who were chattering with Newt with barely a glance at the phenomenon happening beside them.

It was awe-inspiring, it was frightening, it was ... simply _captivating_. Without the terror of the previous day flooding through her veins, Lesley found herself watching with keen interest, and it was like a bolt of electricity shot down her spine as the stones slammed into place, tucked away into the walls on either side and sending a shudder reverberating out across the Glade that she was sure all the boys in their hammocks must have been able to feel.

And then all fell silent.

As the Runners set off into the Maze, a frown began to etch itself onto Lesley’s face. “Don’t they always run in pairs?” she asked quietly.

Frypan nodded, sitting down with his own plate of food before the horde of Gladers came demanding their own portions. “Chad’s buddy was late,” was all he said, a shutter visibly slamming in his eyes. Lesley swallowed.

They ate in silence after that, listening to the sounds of the Glade slowly coming to life for the day. When they were finished, Alby nudged Lesley’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

The Glade was tranquil, serene in the early morning light. There was a light dew across the grass, the droplets of water glittering in the sunshine. Golden rays streamed into the meadow, peeking over the tops of the stone walls. The air felt still, like the whole world was holding its breath. It was ... almost _magical_.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” Alby said, echoing her thoughts.

“Yeah,” Lesley breathed, turning in a slow circle. All around, the other Gladers were slowly getting up, stretching and yawning as they went; animals were being fed, Newt was already out watering the gardens, and Zart, Winston and Clint were ambling their way over to the Kitchen for some breakfast. The ease of their apparent routine was immensely comforting.

“I know it must be hard for you to believe, seeing it like this, but it wasn’t always this way,” Alby told her.

Lesley swallowed. “When you first got here?” she asked cautiously, very much aware of the guarded look in Alby’s eyes.

Alby nodded. “We had more dark days than good ones. Everyone was scared, hopeless, didn’t know where to turn. It was a hard situation to adapt to; we lost a lot of boys to fear, to panic. Disappeared into the Maze, desperate for a way out, and never returned.”

Lesley shuddered at the mere thought. Her imagination was running wild with horror, imagining these teenagers - these poor, poor _boys_ \- throwing themselves into what by all appearances was a death trap, they were so distraught. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, swallowing thickly.

The leader simply nodded in acknowledgment. They slowly came to a stop at the far end of the Glade, and Alby looked around, a look of content pride on his features. “That’s all in the past. We’ve come far since then. We’ve established order, made peace with the world we live in now.”

Lesley nodded. “You’ve made a life for yourselves,” she said softly.

She thought of the previous night, gathered around the roaring bonfire. How happy all of the Gladers had been; the kinship, the brotherhood they had built amongst themselves. Despite what the world had thrown at them, they had fought it tooth and nail, making a stand and telling the Creators to “shuck it” even with no memories, no leverage to use for themselves. They weren’t just surviving. They were _living_.

Alby reached down and grabbed a knife from his belt, tugging Lesley from her thoughts. He took her hand, lifting it up and carefully placing the blade in her open palm. It was crude and worn, but the tool had unmistakably been well cared for.

“You’re one of us now,” he told her, smiling slightly. “You need to know what that means, what you’ve become part of.”

He gestured to the gargantuan stone wall rising up behind her. Lesley turned around and started, something tightening in her chest. “Oh,” she breathed.

It was _covered_ in names, every single letter carved jaggedly into the rock, each in a different style, a certain character to identify, to claim that word - that name - as their own; as they should do, Lesley reasoned, with it being the only thing from their previous lives that they could remember, the one thing they truly knew belonged to them.

Some of the names she recognised, and it brought a small smile to her lips to see them; Newt, Gally, Alby, Winston, Clint, Jeff, Minho. Somehow, the carvings suited them - where Newt’s was clean cut and simple, Gally’s letters were more block style, and Ben’s was underlined as if to state the importance of it. The thought made her exhale a light laugh, thinking of her introduction to the cocky Runner.

There were so, so many names, more than she dared to count, stretching twelve feet up the wall and perhaps eight across. So many names, so many people who had been sent up into the Glade just like she had been; alone, lost, scared out of their minds. A chill ran down her spine when she noticed several harshly crossed out names; George, Stephen, Justin, Alfred. “What happened to them?” she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

Alby shook his head. “Like I said. We had some dark days, Lesley. And that’s what you need to know, coming in.” He turned to face her properly. “We may have had some miserable times, but we’ve risen up above it. Taken strength in the friendships we’ve formed here and helped each other to make this place better, for all of us now and those still to come, until we find a way out of here.”

Lesley stared at the wall for a long moment, her grip tightening on the knife in her hand as she realised the magnitude of what she was about to do, solidifying her place amongst this group of people; accepting that weight of responsibility to ensure the survival of them all, but also acknowledging that she was going to be putting her trust, her life, in the hands of the other boys that they would do the same.

Exhaling a deep, somewhat shaky breath, she stepped forward and began to carefully carve her name into the stone, the sound of metal grating against the rock sending a shiver down her spine.

_L ... E .... S ... L ..._

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

By the time she had finished, Lesley’s arm was aching noticeably, her muscles shaking from the strain. However, any discomfort she felt was overshadowed by the pride she felt at seeing her name etched alongside those whom she knew, in time, would become like her family - or, at least, she desperately hoped.

As they headed back towards the Homestead, the sun steadily creeping higher into the sky, Lesley looked around in confusion; the Glade had fallen silent, the sounds of activity she had been hearing all morning suddenly nonexistent. “Where is everyone?”

“Go wait over by the Homestead,” Alby ordered, sidestepping the question. “I’ll send someone to get you soon, Greenie. It’ll probably be Newt.”

With that, he strode towards the Council Hall without even a backward glance at her; when he reached the structure, he slipped inside, firmly shutting the door behind him.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Lesley decided to follow.

The closer she got to the building wedged in the corner of the Glade, Lesley slowed her pace, glancing around anxiously, but there was no one there to call her out on her actions. Moving closer still, she crouched down next to the wall and pressed her ear to the crack beside the door, listening intently.

“... Think I’d find myself giving you shanks this kinda buggin’ talk, but here we are, because you lot have been running around like headless chickens since yesterday,” Newt’s voice rang out, surprisingly stern. “Now, unless you’ve been living under a bloody rock, I’m sure you’re aware that we have a girl here now.”

There were murmurs of curiosity, excitement; a piercing wolf whistle.

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m talking about, you slintheads!” Newt suddenly shouted. “Wyck, do that again and you’re skippin’ dinner, and I’ll be smacking the rest of you ‘round the head with a shovel if that’s what it takes to knock some sense into those brains of yours.”

Silence fell immediately.

“Now, let me make this clear. I don’t want to have to bloody do this again,” Newt snapped; Lesley held her breath, listening hard. “Until she accepts us, _no one_ is allowed to touch her unless she gives you the okay, alright? Friendly gestures, claps on the back, arm punches, I don’t see why not.”

Lesley felt a small smile begin to spread across her features, knowing that even amongst all this madness, she had someone she could count on.

Newt was still talking. “But _anything_ else, anything closer or more forward than she thinks is acceptable, will see you slintheads locked in the Slammer, or even Banished depending on the situation. And do me a favour and quit staring at the Greenie; her name’s on the wall, she’s one of us now.” A pause. “Do you shanks understand?”

There were mutters of agreement.

“Good that,” Newt said firmly. “Now, enough of this. I shouldn’t have to tell you how to be decent human beings. Off with you buggers; there’s still work to do.”

Lesley scampered, slipping away towards the Homestead to wait beside her hammock, a smile still stuck to her face. Her heart hammered in her chest from adrenaline and ... something else. These boys - and, at the very least, Newt - genuinely cared about her wellbeing. She was genuinely touched.

It was indeed Newt who came and fetched her a short while later, a grin on his face. “How ya doing, Les?” he asked.

She couldn’t help returning the smile. “Got my name up there now,” she told him proudly, jerking her thumb in the general direction of the wall.

Newt nodded. “Good that,” he chuckled. “Come on, we got some work to do now. Gonna be a hard week for ya, but you’ll learn. Always learning; good that? Right, come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends another chapter!
> 
> More Glader bants. Honestly it's so much fun, and also looking at the relationships with the boys who didn't make it past the first book/film, or weren't really focused on. Get to see a bit more of their personalities, the little quirks that make them unique - all the Gladers are like puzzle pieces, and yet they all fit together seamlessly.  
> Plus, here we have the Runners going off to do their daily task! I've always imagined Newt accompanying them every morning.
> 
> ((Was I a bit ott with the wall descriptions? Idk that's the feeling I get looking at all the names up there.))
> 
> Lastly, I felt like that was a discussion that needed to be had. I was cackling the whole time writing that scene, with Newt snapping at the boys for their lack of respect, haha. (Honestly, give them some slack, they haven't seen a girl in YEARS ;) )
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos and comments! I love the feedback. Thank you for reading!


	6. Revelations and Rainstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys put Lesley to work, Gally is actually nice, and our girl learns that perhaps life is about learning to dance in the rain. Sometimes literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Week is here!  
> (Also warning for minor (and short) animal death in the third paragraph. All good after that!)

As it neared the end of Lesley’s first week in the Glade, the days began to settle into a routine; get roused at the wake-up, shower, have breakfast, join one of the various Glader teams for the day, finish at sundown, have dinner, then enjoy downtime until it came time for bed.

“We always get the Greenies to do the worst job first,” Newt had told her after her eavesdropping session. “Well, it’s the worst one ahead of Slopper. Cleaning up everyone’s klunk; digging long drops if ya need to. We already got one, though, so doubt you’d be nominated for that, ya lucky shank.”

The Bloodhouse was a dark, simple shack set near the paddocks. Knives hung from the walls. She watched Winston break a hen’s neck before proceeding to pluck the animal, skin it and remove its organs. Needless to say, she hadn’t lasted long, and swore off food the rest of that day; to her surprise, it wasn’t the goriness of the situation that bothered her, but rather the terrified squawks and screeches of the chicken as it awaited its fate.

Lesley loved working with the Builders. On her first day with them, she was helping them perform maintenance on the notorious Slammer on the far side of the Glade.

The Slammer - also known as the Pit - was a long, rectangular ... well, _pit_ that was made up of four different cells, each at least six feet deep and five wide on all sides. Each had multiple rows of sticks tied together with rope across the top, creating bars and stopping whomever was locked inside from getting out easily.

Gally had terrified her at first, but he was actually a decent bloke beneath the devilish eyebrows. When he noticed her eyeing up the Slammer with keen interest, Gally told her with some degree of amusement that at least half the Gladers had ended up in the Pit at one point or another - himself included; apparently, it was an unofficial rite of passage of becoming a Glader.

“What happened?” she asked with a laugh, her eyes dancing with curiosity and mirth at the thought of Gally stuck in one of the pits, scowling at the bars as if he could mentally unlock the knot of rope that was used to tie the Slammer cells shut.

Gally grinned. “For that story, shank, I’m gonna need a drink. A _strong_ one.”

Her few hours in the Med-jack hut with Clint and Jeff were rather uneventful, but interesting nevertheless. The Creators had provided them with a range of medical tools that they could use - including scalpels, antiseptics, needles and stitching material. Lesley had woken up multiple times during the previous night with vivid dreams of the Gladers stampeding towards the medical shack to be patched up by her, but thankfully Newt’s stern talk had done the trick; the boys had left her well alone - although Winston had popped in at one point to get a fairly large gash on his arm cleaned and covered. He had greeted her with a warm, sheepish grin and a fist bump, and nothing more.

Lesley found herself alongside Zart, Newt and the other Track-hoes in the fields more often than not. The work was therapeutic, systematic. She could shut down the rest of her thoughts and simply focus on the task at hand without too much effort. She loved the grounding feel of the dirt in her hands, the thrumming satisfaction in her veins as she trimmed the trees and pruned the vines of plants snaking up the stakes.

Lesley loved the pattern, the schedule. It was a sense of order amongst the chaos; it allowed her to put all of her time and energy into a project that helped her feel like she was making a difference. Despite being sent up into the Glade with no apparent say in the matter, she was determined to earn her name on the wall.

Throughout it all, Lesley always found her eyes drifting subconsciously to the Maze. She felt restless, like she couldn’t find her feet, like there was something ... _pulling_ her in a different direction. She said as much to Newt one evening, but he simply shook his head and smiled sadly.

“We all felt that way, when we first got here. An incessant need to get out of this bloody place,” he told her as he sat there massaging his leg. “Which is why we entrust that role to our Runners; they can explore the Maze without any buggin’ thoughts of escaping clouding their judgement.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll settle,” he told her quietly. “It might take you a month, or even a year, but eventually you’ll stop wanting to run.”

Lesley nodded, but as soon as Newt had turned away, she had looked back at the Maze entrance, where Minho and Ben were just returning for the night. Somehow, she doubted she would settle. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. 

And she knew that the Maze held the answers she was looking for.

One of her favourite days, however, was hanging out with Frypan in the Kitchen. The sheer mundaneness of cooking food was immensely comforting in a way she hadn’t expected; she was slaughtering animals, or cleaning the bathrooms, or digging up a field. She was simply preparing a meal - and one for thirty or forty odd hungry Gladers, at that.

“And flip it over, there you go, Greenie,” Frypan instructed with a grin. “Gotta seal the steak there, see?”

Lesley looked - as well as felt - immensely pleased with herself as she expertly handled the meat on the grill, using the tongs to turn the steak. Her heart swelled with pride, and she let herself bask in it for a moment.

“Do these Creator people give you all your food?” she asked.

“Yep,” Frypan replied. “Well, a fair amount of it, or the seeds to grow something; the animals keep for a little while.”

“Ever run out?”

Frypan chuckled. “It’s happened once or twice before, back at the start when we hadn’t sorted the supplies properly; that’s why Newt takes care of all that klunk, writing it down while Alby gets the rest of us shanks to haul the supplies out of the Box.”

Lesley’s brow creased as she prodded one of the slabs of meat to check it; it was smoking nicely. “There’s a lot of people here. Have you ever ... starved?”

“Nah. I mean, if we run out of our stocks, we’ve got plenty of stuff here in the Glade,” Frypan shrugged. “There’s food from the trees, for starters. Then we’ve got grubs, spiders; all that sort of klunk.”

Lesley shuddered involuntarily at the idea. “I don’t like spiders,” she grimaced, “and I’d rather not eat one.”

She froze; how - just, _how_ \- had she known that little piece of information that had come to her so easily, with barely any effort? Did she dislike the arachnids so much that it had quite literally been _drilled_ into her subconscious, surpassing any memory barriers that had been put in place?

It made her head reel. What if - what if there were _limitations_ to her memory blank, a way _around_ it -?

Completely and perhaps blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil, Frypan laughed. “You and me both, Greenie.”

At a slight choking noise, Lesley glanced up to see Alby standing stock still not even ten feet away, staring at her.

Shoving away her thoughts, she tilted her head. “Everything okay there, Alby?”

He continued to stare at her for a long moment, so long that the small, concerned smile on Lesley’s face slipped away. Suddenly, he blinked as if to snap himself out of whatever trance he had been in, and his eyes sharpened once more. His gaze refocused on Lesley, and something hardened in his expression.

“Perfectly,” he snapped, the barest shake to his voice as he turned on his heel and stalked off without another word.

“Man, what’s gotten his undies in a twist?” Frypan asked, wandering over to her from where he had been cleaning some metal utensils.

Lesley shook her head slowly, frankly bewildered by the leader’s behaviour; she had thought they had gotten off to a good start. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, her voice flooded with uncertainty. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not from what I’ve seen so far,” Frypan told her, throwing her a warm, sincere smile as he clapped her on the shoulder. “Not from what I’ve seen.”

Lesley nodded her thanks, but Alby had thrown her confidence with just a single word; something uneasy began to settle in her chest, a lead weight that she found difficult to ignore.

_Keep it together,_ she reminded herself. _Keep it together. It was probably nothing._

They had just taken the well done steaks off the grill when a loud, accented voice called out to her. “How we holding up o’er here, Greenie?”

“Hey, Newt!” Frypan greeted.

Lesley glanced up and smiled. “Hey,” she said.

Grinning back in response, Newt sauntered over, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Behind him, the Doors slammed shut across the Glade, making the ground rattle ferociously beneath their feet.

“Got a decent helper for a change,” Frypan told him. Lesley glanced over at him and was staggered to see a flicker of _pride_ in his eyes. “Might take her on, if someone else doesn’t call dibs on her first.”

Newt laughed, while Lesley raised her eyebrows in query. “This ... _choosing_ thing?” she asked.

Frypan nodded. “All us Keepers decide at the end of the week which job we think you’ll be best at. Then we stand ya in front of the rest of these shanks and announce it. It’s not as terrifying as it sounds,” he added with a teasing glint in his eye.

“Sure,” Lesley answered with a laugh.

Newt leaned over the counter, inspecting the steaks they had just been cooking. He nodded, his lips twisting. “Not bad, Les,” he said, smiling warmly. “We’ll make a Cook out of you yet.”

Lesley shrugged nonchalantly, but her cheeks flushed with delight at the compliment. “Not sure what I’m hoping for at this point, but I like the cooking. And the gardening.”

At that, Newt cleared his throat, an apologetic expression sweeping across his features. “I know _this_ was just asking for jokes about making a sandwich,” he said regretfully, “and I am truly sorry about that. But Fry is just ... one of the rotations.”

Lesley cracked a smile. “It’s alright,” she told him, genuinely appreciating his concern. “It’s alright. Really.”

Nodding, the blond boy looked up at the rapidly darkening sky, clearly signaling a change of subject; Lesley was grateful for that, still uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. “Alright, I say we can just about call it a day,” Newt said. “Doors are shut, and the weather’s packin’ in.”

“Let’s go!” Alby’s call came across the Glade. “Close up!”

“And that’s our cue,” Frypan grinned. “Alright, Greenie, store the meat and then we’ll get back to the Homestead.” He squinted up at the clouds. “Looks like it’s gonna be one hell of a downpour tonight.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Lesley stared up in awe at the sky as the rain poured down in torrents, coating everything within reach, saturating the ground and filling the Glade with puddles. Her mouth fell open as she tipped her head back; she stood on the verges of the Homestead with the rest of the Gladers behind her, barely under the shelter of the eaves.

Minho stepped up beside her and laughed, resting his hands on the neckline of his leather Runner’s vest as he squinted upwards. “It’s just rain, shank.”

Gally peered out at the deluge, his brow creasing. “Not much to get excited about.”

But amazement still surged through Lesley, unrestrained. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Newt’s jaw drop open slightly as he glanced sideways at her before his lips curled in a slow smile.

Lesley tentatively stretched her arm out from under the shelter of the Homestead, her skin becoming soaked within seconds as the cool rain hit her. She slowly turned her arm over, letting the water run down it, following the lines of her veins. She laughed in awe as the raindrops danced elegantly across her fingertips. “Yeah,” she smiled, “but this is the first time I _remember_ it.”

And then, taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the rain.

She walked forward with her arms outstretched, eyes closed and face lifted to the sky, a look of pure contentment on her features as she laughed and laughed, giddy and breathless, inhaling deeply and relishing the scent of the rain-filled air, sweet and fresh and powerful, mixed with the smell of soil from the gardens. It seeped into her lungs and filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced before.

Abruptly, her eyes snapping open, Lesley spun around. She noticed the undeniable drooling stares of some of the other boys at her now drenched and skin-tight clothing, that water making her garments cling to her body, but in that moment it was the farthest thing from her mind. “Come on!” she grinned, beckoning.

“You can’t be serious,” Newt laughed loudly. He glanced at Minho - who was still staring curiously at Lesley - and his smile turned into a smirk. “Hey, mate, you need a shower anyway.”

Before Minho could protest, Newt shoved him forward.

“You slinthead!” Minho yelled, becoming drenched within seconds. By now, all the other watching Gladers were starting to laugh and holler, the air filled with sudden hoots and whistles; even Alby was shaking his head at their antics.

Grinning wickedly, Lesley ran forward and grabbed Newt and Gally’s arms, hauling them forward.

Newt’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell, Les!”

“You shank!” Gally spluttered.

But neither seemed to mind, letting Lesley pull them out into the rain with a strength they clearly hadn’t expected. As soon as he was within range, Minho playfully grabbed Newt and scrubbed his knuckles against the boy’s head as payback, Newt’s white shirt already transparent in the wet.

His wrist still firmly in her grasp, Lesley lifted Gally’s arm and twirled herself underneath. “Come on!” she laughed. “Loosen up!”

“Oh, my God, Les, you’re such a girl!” Gally groaned, rolling his eyes, but a second later the grin broke through his frown and he lifted his arm for her anyway, initiating a second spin for her.

Other Gladers ventured forward to join them; it was suddenly mayhem and madness, the boys running into the rain like they hadn’t in what seemed to be a long time - with Clint jokingly shouting after them that he would do klunk all if any of them dumb shanks came down with colds.

They were laughing, tackling, rough-housing, dancing around with Lesley; even Newt spun her around with an exasperated roll of his eyes, humouring her but unable to wipe the grin off his own face. Lesley’s face was hurting from smiling so much as she wiped her wet hair from her shining eyes, crowing into the air with pure joy.

It was fun; it was wild pandemonium; it was messily sliding around in the dirt as mud suddenly went flying in all directions.

Lesley screeched as Zart threw a dollop at her, the gooey substance smacking her in the face. Swearing at him as the boy doubled over laughing, she grabbed a handful of the sticky sludge and launched it back in his direction, only for him to duck and hit Ben full in the face instead.

“Shuck!” the Runner yelled, but the massive grin on his dirt-splattered face betrayed him as he threw a handful of mud at Minho, hitting him square in the back and sending him stumbling.

“You shuck-faced slinthead!” Minho howled. He swung around and took aim at Gally, a wicked grin settling on his features. “Heads up, Lesley!”

“Aw, hell no!” Frypan groaned, ducking another nearby shot from Newt as he threw a pile of muck at Winston.

When the rain finally stopped, so did the Gladers, all of them worn out but ecstatic, their chests heaving as they sat in a disorganised huddle on the ground grinning at each other, soaking wet and covered from head to toe in mud. Newt’s hair was no longer golden; his blond locks had been completely replaced by brown muck, a hysterical sight that had Lesley sniggering into her hand alongside Minho and Gally as the second-in-command ever so graciously swore half-heartedly at them.

Gally reached out and playfully knocked his fist against Lesley’s shoulder, a gesture that she instantly returned, the movement casual and relaxed. “You good, shank?” the Builder asked, a smirk on his face.

Lesley smiled back and flopped down against the grass, not even caring that the ground was still soaked. “You bet I am,” she laughed breathlessly. “More than ever.”

Because for the first time in the life that she could remember, in the everyday moments outside of her welcoming bonfire party, Lesley truly understood what it was to be a family, and she held fast to the feeling like a beacon of hope.

“Alright, you filthy shanks,” Alby’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I want all of you cleaned up, or you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from Fry tonight.”

That day, the sun slipped behind the walls of the Glade to the sound of a wild, roaring stampede of muddy, hollering Gladers towards the showers. As she ran into the end cubicle and slammed the door shut behind her - the other boys noisily piling themselves into the remaining stalls - Lesley laughed and laughed and laughed until her face and torso ached, her chest heaving and her eyes shining with happiness.

And she wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, you made it! Thanks for reading another chapter xx
> 
> The rainstorm was one of the first pieces I actually wrote for Born to Run, so it's been interesting trying to work scenes around it to make it happen - but I did it! And I'm super happy that I managed to fit it into the narrative because it was one of my favourite scenes to write and I LOVE the idea of the Gladers messing around like this and just. having. fun.
> 
> Lesley's becoming one of the boys; she's becoming part of the Glader family!! (slowly, but surely).
> 
> Also, Alby's little moment will be explained in the next chapter ... and is part of something much MUCH bigger (but then, that would be spoilers for the later installments hehe).
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Did you shanks enjoy the rainstorm scene as much as I did? The First Week activities? How about the conversations with Gally and Frypan? Comments and kudos are immensely appreciated!


	7. Memories and Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lesley dreams, Minho surprises some people, and Alby has a confession to make (dun dun dun).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update, I’m way ahead of my writing schedule! (Yes, I am also shocked) Was going to wait another week or so to post but I’m really excited for this one, so go ahead and enjoy xx (the next update might be a little longer away, haha!)

Lesley awoke with a sharp, pained gasp, feeling nauseous from the sudden awakening. Her arms flailed as she desperately fought the disorientation that overwhelmed her in the blackness of the night.

_A tank. Water. Drowning. Unable to breathe._

She rubbed her hands wearily across her face, pressing her fingers against her tired eyes. She cursed under her breath, muttering that she should have been too old for nightmares now. Whatever age she was.

The thought made her freeze. _Or had it been a glimpse of a memory?_

Swallowing thickly, Lesley settled back in her hammock, taking deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart and quieten her mind. But she simply couldn’t get the thought out of her head that what she had seen, dreamt, experienced, had been in some way related to the past that had been hidden from her, locked behind a closed door. A door through which she had just gotten a peek - perhaps through the keyhole, but a glimpse nevertheless.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, too agitated to sleep, Lesley groaned under her breath and got up, slipping on her shoes and heading out into the Glade. High above, the stars were still out, bright and twinkling with a light cloud sweeping across the heavens; there was no sign of dawn arriving anytime soon, but from the extinguished torches, she knew that it was well past midnight.

As soon as she reached the edge of the Deadheads, she pushed the loose strands of hair away from her face and began to run, carefully working her way in a loop around the Glade, keeping as close to the walls as possible. She let the rhythm calm her, keeping a constant pace, focusing on keeping her breathing even. In, out. In, out.

As she ran, she thought back over the moments that had stood out for her that week, letting the conversations roll through her mind in an attempt to chase away the night terrors plaguing her. Not just the loud and brash moments, but the quieter ones that had made her heart soar and her mouth turn upwards all the same.

_“What are you doing there, Greenie?”_

_Lesley looked up at Gally and shrugged, a self-conscious expression sweeping across her features. “That’s a very good question,” she said._

_Gally knelt down beside her. “Here,” he said, holding a hand out. “Let’s see.”_

_Lesley peered over his shoulder as he took the string of rope from her. “Sorry, I didn’t tie it right,” she mumbled._

_Gally laughed quietly, but it wasn’t unkind. “Don’t worry; hardly anyone gets it right first time. To be fair, you weren’t far off, see?” He pointed out her mistake as he backtracked through the intricate knot. “You just have to loop this bit through here instead of there,” he said as he demonstrated, “and there you go. A perfect round turn and two half-hitches.”_

There was something immensely peaceful about the Glade being so empty and silent at this time in the night, without the usual hustle and bustle of the daytime activities. She focused on the light, warm breeze that swept around her, the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest, the sound of her feet crushing the grass - so different to the harsh stone she imagined the Maze to be. The air still smelled like rain as she inhaled deeply; she let the chill of the atmosphere seep into her lungs.

When she finally came back around to the Homestead, she finally felt at peace; her anxieties had been pushed to the back of her mind - still there, but not enough to instill the panic she had felt upon waking up.

A quick shower later, she threaded her way back through the lines of hammocks, past the rows of snoring Gladers; sleep was tugging at the vestiges of her mind, and she couldn’t wait to curl up under her warm blanket, rocking herself back into slumber -

“Why are you out running in the middle of the shucking night, you crazy shank?”

Lesley froze and spun around to see Minho watching her, lying in his hammock with his eyes half shut. She glanced at the ground sheepishly. “Couldn’t sleep,” she whispered as loudly as she dared, shrugging. “Thought a run would help.”

Minho stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes curious. Finally, he nodded. “Sometimes I do the same,” he told her quietly, his tone understanding and vaguely sympathetic. “Helps with the nightmares, doesn’t it?”

Lesley blinked; she didn’t think she’d ever heard the Keeper sound so earnest before. Perhaps it was the ease that the darkness brought, of being able to speak your innermost thoughts into the blackness of the night without fear of the outcome, stripping you of your inhibitions and revealing parts of yourself that you hadn’t realised existed. But as he spoke, Minho sounded ... strangely vulnerable.

And then his words hit her. Did he - did he _know_? Did he mean that all of them had experienced dreams of drowning, of gasping for air, of water crushing their lungs? What did the visions _mean_?

She swallowed against the sudden lump of emotion in her throat. “Yeah,” she replied softly, finally answering him. “It does.”

An expression of deep understanding passed between them, and it momentarily stunned Lesley into complete and utter silence. It reached beyond words, beyond actions; it was a shared connection to something they might have had - and shared - in a past life.

They continued to stare at each other in the dim lighting, and then Minho’s eyes suddenly glinted with amusement and the moment was gone. “Try and get some shut-eye, will you, shank?” he said, smirking slightly. “I’ve heard a rumour that daytime naps are somewhat frowned upon here.”

A quiet laugh bubbling in her throat, Lesley nodded and turned away, heading back to her hammock and feeling Minho’s eyes on her back the whole way there.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“I want her on my team.”

His arms folded, Minho stared at Alby and Newt, who were gaping at him incredulously against the glare of the setting sun; admittedly, it was the first time he’d been so forward about a recommendation for a Choosing. Usually, the shank in question had to work hard in the Glade itself for at least two or three months before anyone even _considered_ putting their name forward.

Minho wanted to take her on as a Runner.

“From what I’ve seen, she’s a fast learner, and I think it would be good to have a fresh set of eyes with us in the Maze,” Minho continued. “Get a different perspective on things.” He folded his arms and grinned. “Plus, I’ve been hearing about her mad sprint from the Box since day one; I wanna see this girl in action.”

With a snort of laughter, Newt glanced at their leader. “You reckon she’d be willing to do it, even with the Grievers out there?” At Alby’s lack of response, Newt frowned, puzzle pieces starting to click together in his mind. “Alby, mate, have you told her what’s in that bloody Maze? Because I certainly haven’t.”

His gaze fixed on the ground, Alby shook his head.

Minho started. “Are you serious?” He stared at Alby. “You’ve told every other Greenie. Why not her?” he demanded.

Alby shrugged, but the movement was strained. “I think it’ll be interesting to see how she holds up against the rest of you shanks.”

“Just because she’s a girl? That’s klunk and you know it,” Minho shot back.

“I know that, it’s just - have you seen how much she’s been crying since First Day?” Alby exclaimed. “I don’t have time for weakness here.”

“We all needed some time,” Newt interjected quietly, frowning slightly at Alby’s bizarre behaviour and his rapidly changing tactics.

“She’s had a week already! The damn girl wears her emotions on her sleeves. You can see it a mile away! I can’t afford to have her breaking down just because there’s some crazy monsters in the Maze.”

“That only come out at night!” Minho exclaimed incredulously, his voice like steel. “I’ll tell you what, she hasn’t cried any more tears than the rest of us shanks during our first week. That girl is tough as nails, I can tell.”

Newt blinked, surprise flashing across his face; he had figured that one out already, but frankly he was staggered by the lengths Minho was going to stand up for Lesley, despite barely knowing the Greenie.

Apparently, Alby thought so, too. “Pretty keen on defending her, yeah?” he bit out. “Trying to get in her pants there?”

There was a moment of shocked, appalled silence.

His face contorting with anger, Minho launched himself at Alby, snatching the front of his shirt in a white-knuckle hold. “That was uncalled for, shuckface,” he snarled. “You take that _back_ -”

“Woah, woah, hey!” Newt barked, roughly grabbing both boys by the shoulders and wrenching them apart. “Both of you, snap out of it! What the shuck has gotten into you two?” He glanced around quickly to make sure they hadn’t gained the attention of the other Gladers; mercifully, their little argument had gone unnoticed. “Come on, take a deep breath.”

As Minho jerked himself backwards out of Newt’s hold, he and Alby both panting raggedly, Newt suddenly got a better look at Alby’s expression, of the emotions flickering in his dark eyes.

He ... he looked _scared_.

“Alby,” Newt began carefully. He shifted on his feet, moving to see his friend’s expression properly. “What’s really going on here?” he asked in a hushed tone, his voice saturated with kindness and concern.

And it was those caring words that seemed to shatter the brewing cloud of anger. Alby looked away, his discomfort clear in his rigid posture. “It was ... something she said the other day,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why, but now ... it’s like an itch in the back of my brain that I can’t scratch. I don’t know, man; I just have this gut feeling that she _can’t_ know about them. The Grievers.”

Newt and Minho shared a discreet, unnerved glance with one another before the blond boy cleared his throat. “Alby ... what are you trying to say?”

Alby swallowed, looking entirely uncertain for the first time in a long while since Newt had met him; he had always seemed so sure of himself, so stoic and unshakeable. For a moment, as he rubbed at the thin stubble across his jaw, he looked painfully vulnerable. “I think ...” He looked around, as if checking they were the only ones in the vicinity, “I think I’ve seen her before. Not _here_ , but ...”

“Before the Maze,” Minho finished quietly. Alby nodded.

Everything in Newt seemed to deflate. A multitude of emotions flashed across his face before his expression settled into a frown; hope, disbelief, confusion. “How - how is that possible?” he stuttered weakly. “The Creators took everything from us except our names. Why would they let you remember her?”

Minho bit the inside of his cheek, tapping his foot against the ground. Hard lines crossed his features, his brow furrowed in thought. “What makes Lesley so special?” he wondered aloud.

Alby shook his head. “I don’t know. And that makes me suspicious.” He gritted his teeth. “The Creators don’t do anything for us without purpose here; there _has_ to be a reason, and until then - until we can figure out if this is some sort of setup or not by those shucking people - we’re staying friendly but keeping things close to our chests.”

Newt’s jaw fell open slightly at the implication of his words. “Alby, didn’t you see how scared she was when she came up in the Box? She’s no different to the rest of us. These - these are things that she _needs_ to know.”

“Not until I’m certain she is one of us,” Alby said flatly.

Minho threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Whatever, man. But, hey, you’re the boss. Don’t come running to us crying when she gives you _what for_ after she does find out what’s out there in the Maze.”

Alby shook his head vigorously, his expression holding the first hints of desperation. “You don’t understand. I don’t trust it, or her. Not after ... after what I felt.” He put his hands on his hips and exhaled deeply, opening and closing his mouth as if struggling to find the words to explain himself. “Three years, and it’s the first tangible memory I’ve had, if I can even call it that. A thought, a feeling; it doesn’t matter what it was, but it was _there_.”

Newt bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, say you’re right.” He held up a hand to halt Minho’s protests as he visibly tensed to argue. “But what do you suggest we do, then?”

Alby stood in silence for a minute, his gaze drifting across the Glade. “I reckon she’s gotta prove herself as good as the lot of you,” he said. “If she’s gonna be a Runner, our entire survival and escape depends on you lot. I’m not taking any chances. Not if she has anything to do with the Creators. At this point, I don’t even know if I want her running those corridors.”

“And the Grievers?” Minho ground out.

“Not yet,” Alby said sharply, and then his voice abruptly softened. “Maybe, maybe later.”

Minho shook his head. “I’ll hold you to that, chief,” he told him bluntly, but his expression had lost some of its previous anger.

Alby nodded in thanks for his surrender. His gaze returned to the Glade once more, his eyes drifting towards the Builders, who were busy teaching Lesley the last steps of how to put in a support beam for their Homestead whilst simultaneously strengthening the entire structure. Gally was laughing, a grin stretching across his face as he clapped Lesley on the back, evidently congratulating her on a job well done.

Newt followed his gaze, and sighed a moment later. “Alby, maybe ... maybe it would be better to send Lesley out there?” he asked quietly, tentatively. His expression turned vaguely pained, and Minho made a move as if to reach out to him. “It’s not - not something I would wish on any of these shanks here, but what if it helps her remember a clue that could help us? You know as well as I do that she keeps looking at the bloody Maze like - like she’s _drawn_ to it.”

Minho nodded firmly. “I mean, think about it,” he said. “The first girl. Like you said, there’s gotta be a reason, and maybe this is it. Maybe she’s our key to a way out -”

“Don’t,” Alby told him warningly, his eyes hardening. “We’re not getting our hopes up. Not again.”

Newt put a hand on his arm. There was a noticeable line of tension in his shoulders. “Alby, mate,” he said quietly. “Maybe we should give her a chance. Like what Min said; even if she’s in league with the Creators without knowing it, she’s still got a heap of skills that could make her a fantastic Runner.”

Minho folded his arms. “If we’re going through with this, we need the approval of the other Keepers.” He glanced at the wall, in the general direction of the Maze entrance. “You shanks know as well as I do that the job is a death sentence more than anything, as much as I want her to join us.”

A heavy silence settled over the three of them, long and contemplative. Each of them, in their own way, knew what going into the Maze meant. They knew of the despair, of the hopelessness it could bring, day after day with no results, no new paths, no new doors or corridors.

But it was their only chance at a way out of the false paradise they had been forced into by the Creators. And they held onto that thought with everything they had, giving them the strength to _keep_ going until they found their escape route.

“Has she completed her week yet?” Alby asked.

Newt nodded. “Just about. She’s with the Builders again today - Gally’s request - and tomorrow she’ll be back with the Track-Hoes for a couple of hours.”

Alby nodded. “Sunset tomorrow, call a Keeper meeting so we can decide what to do with her.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so sinister, mate,” Newt laughed, but the glint in his eye was cautious.

Alby gave a small, sad smile, his gaze flicking to Minho for the briefest moment. “Don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky Alby/Newt/Minho pov! I needed their input for a future scene to work so I decided to give it a go. Took a lot of tweaking for this part, I wrote the draft a couple of months ago but scrapped the scene and reworked it last week, and am much happier with it now, it feels far more in character than it used to be.  
> Plus, a little more insight into Alby's weird moment last chapter. It'll all lead up to something, hehe.
> 
> Also a little Minho and Lesley moment! Friendship is on the horizon ...
> 
> Thank you for reading another chapter, let me know your thoughts! How was the action from a different point of view this time? Did you like the characterization? Please feel free to leave comments and kudos, my writer's soul craves the feedback.


	8. The Chosen One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesley is Chosen, Minho recommends Fry's cooking, and the bants are rife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That title reference. Oh, help. I'm a HP nerd too haha. Proud Ravenclaw!) Anyway, I'm baaaack!! Been overseas for a few weeks so took some time for this chapter. But here you go, enjoy!

The door of the Council Hall swung shut. Alby cleared his throat loudly and pointedly, and the excited whispers of the others boys faded into silence.

The Hall consisted of three levels of rough wooden steps, creating seating for all the Gladers - now with little space to spare with their current numbers. At the bottom was an area lined with wooden posts where the Keepers were stationed.

“As the leader, I hereby declare this Choosing begun,” he said. He looked at Lesley; she stood in the corner of the room, the Keepers in a loose semi-circle around her. “Lesley, today is the day you get assigned a role here in the Glade, thereby officially become a Glader.”

There were cheers from the Gladers, and Jeff and Winston both threw her a thumbs up. Lesley smiled at the show of support; suddenly, desperately, she truly wanted to be a part of them.

“But first, you must take our Oath,” Alby told her seriously. “We have three rules, and each must be abided by.” He looked around the room. “ _Order_. That’s what keeps us standing. What makes us _equal_ to one another.” His gaze returned to Lesley. “If you do wrong by us, then you will be punished. Breaking our rules will see you either thrown in the Slammer or Banished by the coming sundown. Do you understand?”

Lesley nodded, shaking her head vigorously. In her mind’s eye, she was thrown back to that moment up on the Outpost, looking out across the Glade as Newt patiently told her how things worked in the Glade.

“Good that.” Alby straightened his shoulders. “By order of consequence: rule number three is that you must always, _always_ do your part. Our second rule is that you must never harm another Glader, and that includes any attempt to purposely hurt or kill any one of these shanks.” He cleared his throat. “And our number one rule, our most important rule, is to never, _ever_ go beyond these walls. You are not to exit the Glade under _any_ circumstances except in the rare occurrence that you are Chosen as a Runner.”

There was a murmur of excitement amongst the watching boys.

“Will you abide by the Rules of the Glade?” Alby asked.

Lesley nodded firmly.

Alby suddenly stepped forward until he was in her space. “Swear on it!” he barked.

Lesley steeled herself, trying not to flinch. “I swear,” she told him firmly, lifting her chin and forcing herself not to break eye contact.

Satisfied, Alby nodded. “Today marks nine days since you emerged from the Box,” he continued, stepping back beside Newt. “You’ve tried your hand at every occupation we have. Builders, Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Med-jacks, Track-Hoes and Slicers.” He gestured to the boys around him. “Each of our Keepers here has observed your work, and Gathered to vote and give their recommendations based on where they think your strengths lie. Good that, shank?”

Lesley nodded nervously. “G-Good that,” she replied, inwardly cursing at herself for the stutter, still unused to the Glader slang. Newt gave her an encouraging smile.

“Keepers, sound off!” Alby called.

“Pass,” said Zart.

“Pass,” Gally told the group.

Winston folded his arms. “Pass.”

“Pass,” Frypan said, a strangely knowing smile on his face.

And so it went around the circle, the same answers, the same rejection, Lesley’s chest tightening with every pass, scared of what the final decision would be, what she might be left with. She swallowed hard, looking down at the ground.

That is until Minho, the last person to speak, stepped forward from the circle. “As Keeper,” he spoke up, “I Choose Lesley to join the Runners.”

Lesley’s head snapped up so fast it almost gave her whiplash. Her mouth dropped open in shock, and when she saw the small smile on Minho’s face, she couldn’t stop the upward turn of her own lips. She finally looked at the people around her, and many of the boys had grins on their faces, including Newt, Frypan, Jeff ... and surprisingly Gally.

“Is this the final call of the Keepers?” Alby asked.

There was a clamour of enthusiastic cheering, the air filled with shouts of “Good that!” and “Hear, hear!”

Alby nodded at Minho, who took a step towards Lesley and held out a hand, a massive grin on his face. “Congrats, shank. You’re one of us now.”

Lesley clasped his forearm firmly, a warm feeling spreading through her chest.

“Training starts tomorrow morning,” Minho told her. “I’ll come get you before the wake-up. Good that, shank?”

Lesley nodded again, the Glader slang suddenly comfortable on her tongue. “Good that.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

It was barely dawn. Lesley rubbed her eyes sleepily, urging herself to wake up as she trudged through the Deadheads after Minho. She’d never been into the forest before, and now she was sincerely appreciating having someone to guide her through the dense bush; to her, it looked like they were following a random path through the trees, but the Keeper seemed to know exactly where he was going, not even pausing to check for directions. Although, she supposed, the Glade wasn’t an endless stretch of land; the Deadheads couldn’t be _that_ -

Lesley stumbled to a halt, suddenly wide awake at the sight that met her eyes. Wedged amongst the trees was a modest wooden hut, camouflaged in with the forest.

“Welcome to our headquarters,” Minho announced. Stepping forward, he tugged the door open and ducked inside, Lesley scrambling after him as she hurriedly pulled herself out of her awed stupor.

It was fairly spacious inside, or it would have been if not for the large circular table in the centre of the room, about two metres in diameter and dominating the area, leaving about four feet of floor space around it. Wooden boards lay scattered around the hut, leaning against the walls; they were filled with drawings and sketches of what Lesley could only assume were parts of the Maze, the thick lines of chalk covered by scrawled sequences of numbers.

Minho cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Every day, the Maze Runners follow the same procedure,” he told her. “First, report to the Map Room.” He gestured around them and nodded. “Check. Here, you’ll receive your section assignments; you’ll be with me for a few weeks while we get you up to speed,” he added, “so you won’t have to worry about that for the moment.”

Lesley hummed in acknowledgment.

“Next, we gear up, and run.” Minho looked at her sternly. “ _Never_ stop running. Aside from the needed snack break at lunchtime, of course. That stuff’s important, and you’re not gonna wanna miss Fry’s sandwiches for the world.”

Lesley felt a smile tugging at her lips; she liked how Minho approached the role of being a Runner. It was hard not to be swayed by his easygoing attitude.

“And lastly, come back before the Doors close,” Minho continued as if he hadn’t slipped a bit of humour into his speech. “If you survive - which you _should_ , if you follow the rules - we do it all over again the next day.”

He reached out and grabbed the dark cloth that covered the table, yanking it away in one fluid movement, and Lesley’s jaw dropped open in amazement.

Before her eyes was a highly detailed, intricate Maze model. In the centre was the grassyfields of the Glade, and stretching beyond the four walls of their home was a complex pattern of corridors made up of twigs, hundreds of different passages and routes stretching in a circle all the way to the edges of the table.

“Woah,” Lesley murmured, awed as she peered closer. The Maze was _gargantuan_ ; she suddenly felt a surge of admiration for the Runners.

Minho threw her a small smile. “This is everything we’ve mapped of the Maze over the last three years,” he told her.

“So far?” Lesley asked.

Minho was silent for a long minute, pursing his lips. “Technically, yes, we’re still working on it,” he said slowly. “It’s become a priority for us to run farther every day. These bits here with the numbers are still relatively new territory for us, even if we did finally have the guts to explore them maybe nine or ten months ago.”

Lesley nodded, her eyes tracking the incredible network of corridors and passageways.

“Now, the Maze has these eight sections,” Minho continued, pointing at the model in front of them. “Newt mentioned that you already know the walls move around at night, but the sections don’t change in numerical order. How good’s your memory, shank?” he asked suddenly.

Lesley raised her eyebrows. “Uh, pretty shot at the moment,” she retorted.

Minho snickered. “Right. Bad question.” He cleared his throat. “Seven, one, five, two, six, four, eight, three,” he rattled off with ease.

“That’s the sequence?” Lesley asked.

Minho nodded. “Remember those numbers,” he urged. “Seems daunting at first, but you’ll come to know the sections by heart. Stay here long enough, you’ll memorise the Maze patterns, remember where the walls shift.” He tapped his temple and grinned. “Comes in handy. Might just save your life one day.”

Lesley shifted nervously on her feet, unsure just how serious he was being. “Uh, good to know,” she mumbled, focusing on running the numbers over in her head, committing them to memory.

“On that note,” Minho continued seriously, drawing her attention once again, “klunk can happen. We get that. A couple of mistakes, forgetting the path, you might not make it back in time; it’s happened before, and it almost certainly will happen again.” A dark shadow crossed his face, so fast that Lesley wondered if she had imaged it. “If for some reason you can’t get back to the Glade before the Doors shut, _no one’s_ allowed to enter the Maze to help you, alright, shank? You’ll be on your own.” He raised his eyebrows at her, folding his arms. “We clear on that?”

Lesley nodded firmly.

“Good,” Minho said, folding his arms. “Now, what’s the next step?”

“Gear up,” Lesley answered immediately.

A look of satisfaction flicked across Minho’s expression. “Glad to see you’re actually taking this seriously, shank.”

He motioned her over to the far side of the Runners’ hut, where there were several large wooden chests and a small closet. Minho knelt down and flipped open one of the lids as Lesley curiously peered at the wide variety of gear she could see.

“What size feet you got?” Minho asked, glancing at the few shoe sizes they had.

“Uh ...” Lesley pulled off her shoe and peered at the inner sole. “Eleven.”

Minho raised his eyebrows. “Geez, shank, you got big feet,” he commented, standing up and passing her a pair of sturdy boots.

“Almost as big as your ego,” Lesley shot back, her tone humoured. Goodness, where had that burst of confidence come from?

Minho grinned. “Touché. But seriously, you could go canoeing in those things ...”

Laughing, Lesley slipped the boots on. “Careful, I might ask you what _your_ shoe size is,” she teased.

Minho threw his arms wide, grinning. “Ain’t got nothing to hide, sister.”

Lesley snorted, fighting to keep her face straight ... and her eyes upward. “If you say so.”

Before Lesley could attempt to wound his pride any more, Minho turned back to the supply chest. “I usually wear a running vest, but I think a belt will work better for you. You’ll need a water bottle -” He tossed one to her, “- and then we’ve got some knives and daggers here for cutting ivy, vines, things like that. To protect you from -”

Minho suddenly stopped short.

“Protect me from _what_?” Lesley pressed, feeling the tingle of fear her gut.

The other Runner cleared his throat and threw a wan smile her way. “Uh, let’s just say that we’ve never been sure if the Creators threw another challenge in the Maze for us. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Lesley nodded vigorously. “Yeah, good that.”

He chuckled. “Already picking up the Glader slang, I see. Nice.”

As he passed her a short blade, Lesley frowned. “Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw the looks on some of the Gladers’ faces at the Choosing,” she started quietly, her voice full of uncertainty. “Was it ... _wrong_ to become a Runner so quickly?”

Minho shrugged. “Normally, you gotta do regular Glade work for a few months before the Keepers even _consider_ trying you out for Runner.” He grinned. “But I heard of someone’s spectacular sprint after she came up in the Box. Thought we might as well give you a try. And I’ve been ...”

Lesley frowned at the unexpected pause. “What?”

Minho suddenly scratched his head nervously. “Shuck, there’s no easy way to say this without sounding like a slinthead, but I’ve been watching you, okay, shank?” He said the words fast, like he wanted it out and over with.

Lesley blinked. “Okay?”

A look of relief flitted across Minho’s expression. He cleared his throat. “And I realised that you’re not only good at running, but you’re strong, and you learn stuff quickly. All the things you’ll need for being a Runner.”

“The best of the best,” Lesley nodded, remembering what Newt had told her during the bonfire night. A warm feeling bubbled up in her stomach at the Keeper’s praise.

Minho’s mouth pulled sideways in a smirk. “We sure are, shank,” he said, but somehow his words didn’t hold the same cockiness as Ben’s might have. “You see, it’s not just about the running.” He nodded at the drawing boards around the room. “You gotta be tough, smart, quick. Have to make decisions on the spot, know the right amount of risk to take when you’re out there, know how far to go.”

Lesley hoped her expression didn’t show her nerves. “That’s a lot to live up to,” she gulped hesitantly.

“It sure is,” Minho agreed. “But it gets easier.” He waved his arm, gesturing towards the door. “Come on; now that we’ve got the boring stuff out of the way, let’s go for a run. Long day ahead of us.”

They quickly made their way out of the Deadheads, jogging across the Glade together. A few boys milled around, getting ready for the workday as the smell of Frypan’s cooking filled the air. Noticeably visible in his off-white shirt, Newt raised a hand in greeting from the edge of the Homestead; the two of them waved back.

Minho stopped in front of what was now a solid wall, resting his hands on the neckline of his leather Runners’ vest. As Lesley came to a stop beside him, there was the thunderous creaking of metal, and the gargantuan stones began to move, the Doors sliding open for them; it was an awe-inspiring sight that had Lesley’s mouth dropping open as excitement began to rush through her.

There was just something about the Maze, seemingly ancient and in many ways sacred, respected; only a few were allowed to run its passageways, to explore; only a few daring enough to put aside their doubts and look for a way out. The other boys in the Glade often looked at the Maze entrance nervously, as if fearful of the power and secrets it could hold, the answers that lay in the depths of the puzzle. But to her ...

“You ready, shank?” Minho asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Exhaling deeply, Lesley nodded, anticipation and curiosity flitting across her features. “As I’ll ever be,” she told him.

Minho grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s go!”

He sprinted into the Maze. Lesley smiled, taking off after him as the darkness of the ivy stone walls swallowed them up and the Glade disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still indulging in all these "what was normal life like in the Glade before Thomas?" moments. Quality Minho and Lesley time! MinLes? Minley? Is that easier?? Took a bunch of stuff from Minho/Ki Hong talking in the trailers and the BTS footage to get an idea of how he might run (so to speak) the Runners as their Keeper.
> 
> (The shoe size bit was one of my favourites in the book, I had to work that in somehow. Kudos to you, JD!)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Please feel free to leave comments and kudos, I love the feedback!


	9. Confidence and Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lesley is sarcastic, Minho is barely putting up with her ... and the Maze starts playing tricks on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So these next few chapters will be posted in quick succession, it was too big to post as two chapters (plus every chapter break I picked didn't seem to work) so I split it into three, and it helps to keep the scenes separate. It's a tad shorter than some of the others, but not by much! Enjoy!

Not even the vast stick replica in the centre of the Runners’ hut could have prepared Lesley or her severely lacking fitness skills for how simply _gargantuan_ the Maze was.

Minho told Lesley that he would be training her for eight consecutive days, after which time he would fully determine whether she was suited for the role or not. The weight with which the Keeper uttered those words made Lesley shrink momentarily under the burden of them; for all of her bravado of wanting to enter the labyrinth, the deep, dark sadness in Minho’s eyes had not escaped her notice, his voice hard with what she gathered was suppressed, tightly controlled emotions.

But she couldn’t let that stop her. _Not now_.

It didn’t take Lesley long to understand why the training took over a week to complete, when she had had mere days trialling the other jobs in the Glade. “Newt really wasn’t kidding when he said the walls moved,” she muttered early on during their second day, to which Minho responded with a shake of his head, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in clear amusement.

_Seven, one, five, two, six, four, eight, three; seven, one, five, two, six, four, eight, three._ The words went around and around Lesley’s head, a mantra she kept repeating to herself. Minho’s spiel on getting lost in the Maze had struck a nervous chord in her, especially after spending hours on her first day running, running, _running_ , farther than she would have ever thought possible from the Glade. Each new passage branched off into two or three more, going on seemingly for ever. There were moments, especially when the skies clouded over with the promise of rain and already dim corridors were plunged into darkness, that the towering walls suddenly seemed claustrophobic and inescapable, like they were closing in on her.

But Lesley pushed through her fear. She _had_ to.

She was grateful for Minho’s company every step of the way. They spent the entirety of each training day in the respective sections, and even then they didn’t manage to run all the passageways; they simply _couldn’t_. The sheer size of the Maze was astounding, the scale simply mind-boggling even after seeing the complexity of the model, and then you had to take into account that it all _changed_ by the following morning. Minho was careful to point out exactly what walls had shifted where, helping her to find the patterns in the movements; Lesley was beyond impressed that he had truly committed the system to memory.

Minho tested her constantly. He would take her out a couple of miles and circle back, then proceed to tell her to lead and take the exact same route. Other times he was assessing her steadily improving sense of direction, in conjunction with telling the time by the position of the sun, just in case she was ever in a situation where her watch was broken.

_“If for some reason you can’t get back to the Glade before the Doors shut ... you’ll be on your own.”_

As Minho had said, it wasn’t just about running the corridors and learning the changes and directions; it was mapping the Maze in your _mind_ , to know and understand the paths and shifts of the stone walls as well as you would know the veins on the back of your hand. It wasn’t just a job, a position in the Glade, Lesley quickly came to realise. Minho was teaching her how to _survive_. To do her job and get back before sundown.

The thrill of fear, of uncertainty and determination that came with that single revelation was almost intoxicating.

Each day blurred into the next, and Lesley quickly fell into the routine of her new role. Minho had to shake her awake those first few days before her body clock adjusted, and she enjoyed the brief moment of camaraderie between herself and the other Runners as they ate breakfast together in the morning under the dawning light. Then, as one, they headed towards the Maze as the Doors slowly rolled open for them, beckoning them to a fate unknown even for those as experienced as Minho.

And then they would run, branching off into different corridors, and Lesley’s ears gradually fell deaf to the rhythmic thud of the other footsteps as they faded into the distance, leaving only herself and Minho, their breathing synchronized, chests rising and falling in tandem as they surged deeper into the labyrinth.

With each passing day, the familiarity of the routine brought her peace and comfort. The fear of the unknown began to melt away as curiosity and resolve gripped her with iron claws once again.

Three years. The boys had been stuck in the Glade for three whole years, and Lesley was determined to help them find a way out.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Lesley laughed. “Put my left foot in, shake it all about, close my eyes and spin myself around.”

The eight day came about just like any other, and she felt strangely relaxed, despite it being her final day of assessment. As she ran into the Maze that day with Newt waving them off at the doorstep, Lesley had complete and utter confidence that Minho would keep her on as a Runner. His criticisms, few and far between, had been entirely constructive. “Save your energy,” he had told her. “Listen to your body. Drink when you need to. Did you pay attention to our heading after our break? Good luck finding your way back, shank.”

He was never mean; Minho was blunt, but Lesley got the distinct impression that he did genuinely care for her safety. And so, she listened to him, every word right down to the letter. She was steadily growing stronger, and had been able to run farther every day without having to pause and catch her breath. She was still working on the stitch she always seemed to get after their short breaks - Frypan’s sandwiches were, indeed, delicious - but she was proud of her own progress, and Minho seemed to be, too.

“Less of the sarcasm, you shank.” The Keeper swatted at her, lightly clipping the back of her head, but there was the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth, his eyes shining with barely hidden amusement. “I’ll be heading due east, and this time we’re taking it up a notch, alright?”

Lesley nodded, shaking her shoulders as she settled into business mode, the mirth rapidly fading from her features.

Minho pointed at the gadget strapped to her wrist. “When your watch shows five past the hour, start moving. If you haven’t found me within ten minutes, stay where you are and I’ll come and look for your hopelessly lost ass.”

Lesley sniggered despite herself. “Thanks.”

Shaking his head, Minho tapped his watch pointedly as he started backing away. “You got this, Lesley. See you in fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe I want you to activate your knight in shining armour mode!” Lesley called loudly after him.

Minho simply flipped her off before running around a corner and disappearing out of sight. Laughing quietly to herself, Lesley closed her eyes and spun around.

_One, two, three, four, five._

Opening her eyes, she threw a hand out to steady herself, looking around at the two identical corridors that faced her as she came to a stop. Usually, Minho accompanied her when testing out her directions, and she felt a surge of pride through her chest that he actually deemed her capable of navigating her way through the Maze by herself.

It was difficult not to let the subtle compliment go to her head. She felt almost giddy.

She glanced at her wrist, watching the minutes slowly tick by, and decided to make a start on her orientation. Using her dagger to slash an ‘X’ into the stone at the bottom of one of the walls, followed by an arrow to show her which direction she was facing first, she turned her gaze skywards.

Of course, the sun was too low in the sky, what with it being mid afternoon already; the walls were so tall that noon was the only time that you could acceptably see the sun.

Minho had told her not to move, but she figured there was no harm in moving about the same passageway.

She began to look at the shadows on the ground. From where she was standing, the dark lines on the ground were slanting slightly, and showed her that the sun was on her left. Therefore, she needed to find a path taking her in the opposite direction; she was currently looking north.

As soon as the timer was up, she set off. First, she took the southbound corridor. She stayed on it for a few minutes, taking careful turns at every crossroad she encountered, but the more she thought about it, the more _westwards_ her path seemed to be taking her despite her best intentions to head east.

And so, she doubled back, passing her little arrow on the base of the northward path and setting off at a confident run. She was immediately met with a few more directional options upon turning right at the intersection at the end of the passage, but tried her best to keep east.

However, her frustration grew when the shadows indicated that she was starting to head south again, and the minutes on her watch were steadily ticking down. She thought about trying another path ... and that was when she saw the tiny ‘M’ inscribed on the wall, cut jaggedly into the stone at eye level, so small she just about missed it.

_“Always pay attention to your surroundings, shank.”_

Lesley grinned triumphantly to herself and took off down the rest of the path.

_Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left._ It was easy. She kept glancing up ahead and found that she was, indeed, heading east - albeit in a slightly roundabout way - and away from the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon. Minho had only had a five minute head start on her; she doubted he was very far away now.

Her confidence growing with every stomp of her boots against the stone floor, she put on a burst of speed -

_Click. Click-clack._

She skidded to a halt and spun around at the unnerving noise that came from behind her. The sharp sound sent a shudder rocketing down her spine, like nails scraping on an old chalkboard.

“Hello?” she called loudly. “Minho, is that you? You’d better not be messing with me, you slinthead!”

But there was only acute silence in response, disrupted only by the harsh sound of her own breathing.

The air strangely and unnaturally still around her all of a sudden, Lesley turned on her heel with rattled nerves, about to continue on her path, when she heard the same noise, this time much, _much_ closer.

_Click. Click-click. Click-click-clack. Click._

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end, gooseflesh scattering across the bare skin of her arms.

But what could possibly be in the Maze other than herself and the other Runners? They had been running just about every part of the labyrinth throughout the course of the previous week, for at least nine hours per day. Surely she would have seen _something_? Or Minho would have -?

There was an abrupt, niggling thought in the back of her mind that she couldn’t silence, no matter how hard she tried. _“We’ve got some knives and daggers here for cutting ivy, vines, things like that,”_ Minho had told her during orientation. _“To protect you from -”_

_“Protect me from_ what _?”_ she had pressed, when he had promptly stopped speaking.

That tingle of fear, of anticipation she had felt in her gut then was very real now.

_What were the Runners hiding from her?_

Clenching her jaw, Lesley glanced at her watch, staring contemplatively at the face. She still had a few minutes, and she suspected she was in very close proximity to the Keeper; he could wait a moment. And so, shoving her fear down as best she could, Lesley pulled her dagger from her belt and went to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun! Bet you all know what's waiting for Lesley. (Shh, no spoilers!)
> 
> This was an interesting chapter to write, and took me weeks to come up with ideas. I assume the Runners had to have training of some sort to do with directions and tracking, and this was the result of days of brainstorming! Hope you liked the training concepts.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and kudos! My writer's soul craves feedback. See you all shortly for the next chapter!


	10. Secrets of the Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare comes to life, Lesley is scared shitless, and Minho has a (sort of) heroic moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for part two of Day 8 in the Maze! Read on and enjoy!

She crept along the passageways in a vaguely hunched position, the palm of her right hand sweaty against the rough handle of her blade. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find, what was awaiting her at the source of the noise, but she knew she needed to find out if she wanted to get any sleep that night.

That is, if the memory of the spine-chilling sound let her rest anyway.

The sky was starting to cloud over her head, and a slow sense of foreboding began to fill her, seeping into her bones, into every nerve that she was desperately trying to wrangle. Maybe, just maybe, she should go back to Minho, and tell him what she had heard. Yes, that was the smartest idea she’d had in a while.

_There’s nothing here,_ she told herself firmly. _Stop scaring yourself. This is the reason Greenies like you are teased, getting scared witless at everything._

Admittedly, she hadn’t heard the strange clicking noises in several minutes, and she was starting to wonder if she had imagined it. Maybe it was the walls creaking. Maybe.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lesley huffed to herself under her breath, gripping her weapon even tighter.

She stopped once again, listening with all her might, her ears straining, hoping to hear at least _something_ that would confirm her imagination wasn't being overactive, that it wasn’t playing on her fears, her doubts -

_Click-clack. Click-click. CLACK._

Oh, hell. The sound was so, _frustratingly_ close.

Lesley made a run for it. She sprinted in the direction of the sound, hoping to catch it, her curiosity getting the better of her, the sudden need to know the source of the noise that was almost goading her. She would worry about Minho later; sure, he’d probably be angry, possibly _furious_ at her for running off by herself during a simple exercise. She could excuse it as getting lost, of losing track of time - for there was that pulling, that _tugging_ sensation that she had felt in her mind every time she looked towards the Doors from the safety of the Glade. And she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to follow it, that tantalizing beckon of a past she couldn’t remember.

_Left. Right. Right._ She ran around another corner -

\- and came face to face with what was quite possibly the horrific culmination of every single one of her nightmares combined.

The creature reared up, towering over her a good six feet. Grotesque could barely begin to describe it. Some sort of hard shell, an exoskeleton, covered the top of its thorax and abdomen while its underbelly was grey and pulsing. The outer armour was scattered with thick yellow hairs, bristling and protruding. Beneath slits of two dark, multifaceted eyes, its jaws were open in a ferocious snarl as a low hiss emanated from the back of its throat, hundreds of tiny, dagger-like teeth glistening in the daylight. Eight spindly legs stuck out from its throbbing body ... and Lesley was horrified to see what she thought was the grey flash of _metal_ between the joints; it suddenly made her see just how severely _mutilated_ the creature was, a hideous hybrid of numerous species and what could only be man’s own creation.

She was barely aware that she had let go of her dagger, the weapon clattering to the stone ground. A wave of cold sweat broke out across Lesley’s body, and she felt a sudden urge to throw up the meagre food she had in her stomach. She felt sickened to her core; what the _shuck_ was she looking at?

Words swirled around her head, blurring, overlapping.

_“... Disappeared into the Maze ...”_

_“... Desperate for a way out ... and never returned home ...”_

_“... And_ no one _has ever survived a night ...”_

And now she knew why. Dear shucking gods above, she knew why. 

The sheer terror rocketing through her veins was paralysing. Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe, could hardly _dare_ to breath as she stared into the monstrous features of the creature standing before her, sticky, gunky saliva pouring from its horrendous jaws.

And the _stench_. Lesley fought not to gag, her stomach churning. It was so foul it was unfathomable, so nauseating, like what she imagined a thousand rotting corpses smelled like. The overpowering, macabre reek of death made her feel like she was indeed staring her own demise in the face. She stared up at it, shaking violently with a fear so extreme it was beyond her comprehension. 

And then the monster began to shift forward, advancing with a menacing presence. She lurched backwards, tripping over her own feet in her haste, until her back hit the wall of the Maze, the stone cold against her; she was trapped.

Amidst the chaos of her thoughts, there was a strange itch in the back of her mind that she simply couldn’t place. Somehow, the creature seemed terrifyingly familiar, like she had seen it somewhere before.

_A stark white room. Desks._

_“Good work, Lesley.”_

_Scraps of paper in front of her. A lead pencil in her hand._

“HEY, OVER HERE, YOU SHUCK-FACED PIECE OF SLINTHEAD KLUNK!”

Lesley jumped at the unexpected roar of a taunt, seeing Minho waving his arms at the far end of the passageway. The look of terror on his face was unmistakeable, and he had two blades clutched in a white-knuckle hold.

There was a low, spine-chilling snarl from the creature, and then it abruptly turned around and hurtled away in the opposite direction, spindly legs clattering against the narrow walls of the Maze, shrieking piercingly as it turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Still staring at the same spot in front of her in shock, Lesley collapsed back against the wall, finally remembering how to breathe again as violent tremors shuddered through her whole body. Without warning her knees buckled, and in the same instant strong arms bracketed themselves around her torso, hurriedly catching her and gently lowering her to the ground. “I gotcha, Les.”

Minho scooted backwards, his gaze darting over her body as a deeply concerned look settled on his features. “You’re okay, Lesley. You’re okay,” he murmured, gripping her shoulder. “Take deep breaths, in and out. There you go, shank. Shuck, you’re white as a sheet -”

Barely aware of her own actions, Lesley moved her hand up to rest on his, squeezing tightly, needing the confirmation that yes, he was _here_. “How - how did you _find_ me?” she choked out.

She barely caught the look of surprise that flashed across Minho’s face at the contact, and she suddenly realised; she had so far refused to let any of the boys touch her, apart from handshakes and claps on the back. This was a definite step forward.

Minho snorted quietly. “Heard you cursing my shuck ass for pranking you - which _wasn’t_ me, if you hadn’t guessed. When I didn’t hear you after that, I went to track you down.”

Lesley nodded jerkily. “Thank you,” she said shakily. “For saving my butt back there.”

Shaking his head, Minho laughed weakly. “Didn’t do nothing, shank. You were handling things just fine on your own. Told Alby you were tough -”

His face suddenly fell, and he shook his head. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, Les. I -”

Lesley squinted at him in confusion, her distraught brain barely able to keep up with the rapid conversation change. “What?”

“Alby.” Minho’s expression was pained. “Wouldn’t let us tell you what was behind the walls in the first place until he’d decided you’d proved yourself. Shouldn’t have listened to his shuck ideas.” He looked disgusted with himself. “Should have broken his shuck orders as soon as we were left alone -”

But Lesley had spaced out again, barely listening as he continued to mutter to himself, her gaze focused on where the horrific creature had disappeared at the end of the corridor. 

She inhaled sharply, realisation flooding her thoughts. The Maze had somehow been calling to her for days, _weeks_ now. Maybe ... maybe it was a clue. A sign. A _chance_ for them to escape. “How long until sunset?” she asked suddenly.

Minho blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Uh ... maybe two hours?” he said, glancing up at the sky, and then his watch.

Lesley’s eyes widened; they didn’t have long. “Minho, come on, we gotta follow that thing!” she exclaimed, roughly pushing herself up the wall and staggering upright, cursing when her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle once again. “Oh, crap - hang on -”

Minho grabbed her arm to steady her, clambering to his feet as well. “Can you run, Les?” he asked quietly.

Still breathing heavily, she nodded fervently, her eyes alight; she suddenly felt as if she were possessed by a willpower much stronger than her own. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, we have to catch it!”

Without another word, Lesley started off down the passageway, her gait slightly off-kilter but gaining in momentum with each step. Shaking his head at her stubbornness, Minho stooped to grab her abandoned blade and took off after her.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

They chased the creature through the Maze, both of them listening for the spine-chilling _click-clack_ of the monster’s movements; every so often, Minho would check the walls and ground around them, looking for recent signs of disturbance. Lesley had to admire him for that; she hadn’t realised just how much tracking skills would be useful for a Runner. She made a mental note to focus on that in future.

They ran through to the outer sections, an area that Lesley hadn’t yet explored. She gaped in awe of the towering concrete blocks - so much different to the stone of the Maze - and felt her curiosity pique at the massive numbers painted onto them at regular intervals.

“Sections of the Maze,” Minho puffed by way of an explanation. “Yeah, they’re numbered. Probably should have mentioned that earlier.”

Still running, Minho took her past them, leading her down several other wide passageways to an open dirt field that was criss-crossed with sky-high columns of orangey-brown metal. “We call these the Blades,” he told her, slowly coming to a stop. He put his hands on his hips, disappointment clear in his expression as he studiously observed the ground. “And this is where the trail ends; it’s gone.”

Lesley leant back against one of the towering sheets of rust. “Shucking hell,” she muttered, closing her eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to overwhelm her, as if her body was telling her it had had enough. The adrenaline rushed out of her as fast as it had appeared; she felt exhausted, her limbs like lead.

“We’re gonna call it a day,” Minho announced suddenly, taking a swig from his drink bottle and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s getting late. You still look like you’re about to pass out, and I’m not gonna take any chances if I end up having to carry your shuck ass back to the Glade.”

Beneath the blunt tone, Lesley could hear the concern in his voice. She nodded. “Okay,” she responded tiredly.

“What, no jokes? No sarcastic comments?” He took a step closer to Lesley, his eyebrows pinching worriedly. “You good to go, shank?”

Lesley looked away, her cheeks suddenly heating up. “Minho, do you think we knew each other before all this?” she asked unexpectedly.

His eyes widening, Minho’s eyebrows shot skywards, shock mixed with something vaguely and oddly _triumphant_ flashing across his features. “You remembered something?”

The image of the white room flitting across her mind, Lesley leaned backwards against the wall, suddenly unable to speak.

Apparently, that was answer enough for Minho. “I don’t know,” he told her quietly. “But I hope like shuck that we did, Les.”

Warmth flooded her veins at the admission. Lesley nodded again, reaching for her canteen with trembling hands and taking a long drink. She used the moment to steel her nerves, which had essentially turned to mush the moment that creature had shown up. “Come on, let’s go home,” she told Minho.

They had been jogging for a while before Lesley realised what she had said without even thinking about it.

_Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wrote the creeping about the Maze parts (plus when Lesley first heard the Griever sounds) at like 3 in the morning and then couldn't get back to sleep because I couldn't get that image out of my head haha.
> 
> SO. THE GRIEVER. What did you guys think? I'm super stoked by this section of the story, it's one of my favourite scenes now, I think. Minho's insult was one of the first pieces of dialogue I wrote for Born to Run, and I didn't know when I would use it, but I'm SO glad it ended up here! It still makes me laugh. (In case you hadn't picked up on it, my Minho is a mixture of book and movie version, because I adore Ki Hong and his portrayal but book!Minho also has some of the best lines in the whole series)
> 
> And now, the little piece of memory. A little teaser! All will become clearer in the future, promise ;) plus did anyone pick up on Minho's triumphant expression? That bringing Lesley into the Maze might help them out, as he mentioned to Alby a few chapters ago?
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and kudos! I enjoy the feedback xx Would love to know your thoughts on this!


	11. Decisions and Deceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesley is pissed, Minho just as much, and Newt played the Newt-ral (neutral) party (ba-dum-tiss).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back again! This is the third part of the whole 'Day 8' saga. Took a bit of extra tweaking but now it's ready for you. Enjoy!!

It was closer to sunset than either of them would have liked by the time Lesley and Minho finally reached the safety of the Glade, the two of them having to put on an extra burst of speed as the Keeper glanced nervously at the darkening sky every so often. “Nearly there, nearly there,” he kept muttering, but it seemed to be more for her encouragement than his own. She greatly appreciated it.

Both leaders were standing at the Doors waiting for them, arms folded across their torsos in identical positions. Alby’s foot tapped impatiently against the thin layer of grass that littered the threshold of the Maze.

“Les?” Newt gaped, his frown instantly giving way to an expression of mixed shock and concern as he took in the sight of the two exhausted and pale Runners, one noticeably more so than the other. “You look bloody awful. What the _hell_ happened out there? You alright?”

Lesley shook her head, bending over panting, her hands on her knees. “Peachy,” she wheezed. She felt on the verge of ejecting her own lungs from her torso.

“That was cutting it a bit close,” Alby told Minho sharply, frowning slightly. “The Doors shut in a few minutes. What held you up?”

At those words, Lesley whirled around, staggering upright as rage rocketed through her like fire in her veins, fueled by the overwhelming terror she had experienced a short while before. “Why the buggin’ _klunk_ didn’t you _slintheads_ tell me what was in that Maze?” she exclaimed furiously. “A little heads up, maybe ‘oh, but the way, we’ve got some bio-mechanical _nightmares_ running around in that shuck hole!’ Why the hell did it have to wait until I was literally _walking_ into Death’s shucking embrace?!”

It was the most Glader slang - and swear words - that had ever poured out of her mouth in a single sentence. Minho gaped at her; Newt’s features were suddenly frozen in shock as he comprehended what Lesley was saying, mouth open in a silent ‘o’ as he stood there with his arm half outstretched towards her.

For a fleeting moment, Alby looked simply staggered. But before she could focus on it, his face hardened, like a mask snapping into place; there was abruptly no sympathy to be seen in Alby’s expression, even though the barest traces of shame flickered in his eyes. “Everyone finds out eventually,” was all he said.

But the excuse sounded weak even to Lesley’s own ears. She had heard Minho’s words clearly, and had had her suspicions confirmed the moment she had heard the ghastly clicking noise in the Maze. “No! _No_ more excuses!” she snapped.

It was a good thing that the Keeper of the Runners looked just as annoyed as her, if the hardened look in his eyes was anything to go by.

Lesley stepped closer, pushing into the leader’s personal space. “Is it because I’m a girl?” she demanded. “That I have to go through some buggin’ _gender test_ to see if I’m fit to join you shanks?” She gave Alby a rough shove backwards. “Is that all this is to you? Or did I do something - the Creators forbid _what_ \- to make you not trust me with that _crucial_ piece of information?!”

“Les -” Newt began quietly as he saw Alby’s jaw clench; unknowingly, Lesley had hit the mark dead on. He took a step forward as if to move between them.

She ignored him. “Look at it this way,” she told Alby, her voice turning low and deadly. “I’m stuck here just as much as you shanks are, and I was told that the Runners were your best hope for escape. Now, let me do my _shucking_ job and don’t you _dare_ keep something like that from me again. The next Greenie those Creators send up, I hope you consider those monsters information worth mentioning to them,” she snapped. “If you ever want to get out of this buggin’ place, you need to trust your Runners more, shuck-face.”

With that, she stormed off.

“You found one?” Alby asked incredulously, his jaw slack. He glanced at the Maze, and then back at the Keeper. “During the _day_?”

Minho snorted, but his stoic facade was rapidly crumbling now that he was back in the safety of the Glade and the Greenie was no longer in sight; he was shaking ever so slightly. “More like _it_ found _her_. I left Les alone for, what? Quarter of an hour? And next thing I know she’s having a staring contest with the shuck thing.”

Something in Alby’s jaw tightened. “You left her alone in there?”

“My training, my rules,” Minho shot back. “Gave her a direction and told her to find me, and she just about did. I’d’ve been pissed at her for going off on her own if she hadn’t run into one of those things.” Suddenly, he looked visibly uncomfortable, his own face turning a shade paler.

Newt put a hand on his arm to steady him. “What do they look like?” he asked in a hushed tone, almost afraid to ask. Somehow, by some sheer miracle, Minho and Lesley had survived what was the worst nightmare of anyone who resided in the Glade, had escaped what was the worst fate imaginable. They needed _answers_.

Minho shook his head, shuddering. “Put it this way; I’m glad it keeps itself on the other side of those Doors. It’s like a metal-insect-spider hybrid with a mouth like the devil himself.” He started to move past them. “Wish me luck getting any sleep for the rest of my life,” he muttered under his breath.

Alby, however, firmly grabbed his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Did you go after it?” he pressed. “See where it came from?”

Newt looked appalled. “Alby, did you _see_ how Les looked?”

“Oh, we followed it, alright,” Minho told them, an edge of snark to his voice. “The shank got right back on her feet and suggested it before I even had the chance to. We lost it at the outer sections.”

Alby pursed his lips, his hands moving to rest at his waist. He was silent for a long, heavy moment. “We’ll have to be careful from now on, just in case it comes back. We’ll keep this between us, but keep an eye out for anything unusual.”

“Good that,” Newt agreed verbally, while Minho simply nodded. The blond scratched the back of his head, looking very worried. “Blimey. They never come out during the day.”

When Alby opened his mouth to respond, Minho promptly shut him down. “And if you say it’s to do with _her_ ,” he spat, “think again. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that one of those shuckfaces appears in the Maze right after they’ve sent up the first girl, but it’s got _nothing_ to do with her character, you hear me?”

Turning his head, Alby raised his eyebrows after Lesley’s retreating form. “You reckon she’s proven herself to be a Runner? That we can trust her?”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Minho told him firmly, a look of disgust flashing across his face. He suddenly decided not to mention the slip in Lesley’s amnesia. “Remember, that was _your_ idea. And she didn’t even klunk herself _once_ ,” he added spitefully, turning around and walking off towards the showers. “If I can trust her out in that Maze, so can you!”

Pursing his lips, Newt went in the other direction, leaving Alby standing at the Doors as the gargantuan pieces of stone began to move.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Les!” a sharp, accented voice called distantly, piercing the quiet air; it was unmistakably Newt. “Lesley, are ya here?”

Lesley curled further in on herself, pressing her back more firmly against one of the trees. She had stormed into the forest with the intention of retreating to the solitude of the Map Room - thankfully, the wretched, furious look on her face had deterred any of the Gladers from approaching her at all to ask why they had returned so late - but had then abruptly changed direction, heading further into the trees.

And that was when her blood had run cold; she had unwittingly discovered the graveyard.

She had collapsed onto the dirt not long after that, the weight of all she had experienced in those few short hours hitting her like the stone walls of the Maze. She had read the names through her tear-blurred vision, and felt a raw pain bloom inside her that it could have beenher own carved onto one of the small wooden crosses; she had experienced what these poor, _poor_ boys had endured in their final moments.

Absolute, _paralysing_ terror. Only, she had lived to tell the tale.

She shuddered, coming back to the present. She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Her eyes were already red raw from the tears she had shed.

She heard the footsteps hurriedly move closer, the Glader now alerted to her position. She suddenly didn’t know if she wanted to be alone or not. She wanted to scream, to rage, to curse the world for the Maze they were trapped in, to yell at them all for keeping such a deadly secret from her.

But then, Minho had been truly and severely apologetic about the entire incident; the guilt had been clear on his face. And maybe, just maybe, Newt was the same.

“There you are, Les!” Newt exclaimed.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even _look_ at him, simply wrapping her arms more firmly around her knees, her jaw tightening to the point that her teeth began to ache as she stared straight ahead.

With the soft exhale of air through his nose, Newt cautiously wandered closer. He sat down in the dirt beside her and leaned back against the same tree, carefully stretching out his right leg as he lowered himself down.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, and neither did she. The tension in the air was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Lesley wasn’t going to speak until she was offered some kind of an explanation; they owed her that much.

“Grievers,” Newt finally said, his voice quiet. “We call them Grievers.”

_Now_ they were getting somewhere.

“Can’t imagine why,” Lesley commented dryly, but just like that, she suddenly felt she could almost breathe again. She swallowed nervously, looking sideways at Newt. “That’s what happens to them, isn’t it?” she choked out. “The people who go into the Maze and never come back? They get killed by those - those _things_.”

His eyes pained, Newt nodded. “We’ve lost a lot of good people to them over the years,” he said quietly.

“And they end up here?” Lesley pressed, staring at the grave markers again, all of which had names scratched onto them.

Newt paused. “The ones we find, that is. Sometimes all that’s left is a scrap of clothing; gives me the willies like nothing else,” he added with a shudder. He pointed to one of the wooden crosses that was stuck into the dirt. “George was one of our first boys here,” he told her quietly. “Arrived a month or so after Alby.” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “He went crazy, from what I heard. Went out into the Maze one day and turned psycho overnight. I guess he got Stung by the buggers.”

“Stung?” Lesley squeaked, trying desperately to remember the creature’s anatomy she had seen through the haze of sheer terror.

Newt ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “We think the Grievers have a stinger of sorts - Alby realised it after what happened to George. Whatever it is, it messes with their heads; they go stark raving mad.”

Lesley shuddered, and silence fell between them once again. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, her voice pained. “I really am.”

Newt shrugged. “It’s the way life is in this place. Maybe we need the strongest Runners if we’re to have any chance of getting out of this bloody place, and that’s why the Creators threw them in there.”

Lesley stiffened, thinking of her near panic attack at the mere sight of the Grievers. “I guess I’m not very strong,” she muttered. “Or brave.”

Newt stared at her. “You’re buggin’ kidding me, right? Minho said you went straight after that thing!” he exclaimed. “I trust Minho’s judgement, and if he says that that thing was scary as hell, then I believe the shank.”

Lesley felt her face slacken in surprise. She hadn’t known the Keeper had such confidence in her, enough to advocate for her in front of Alby.

“You were right, you know,” Newt admitted quietly, as if able to read her thoughts. “Alby was hard on you on purpose.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t mean I agreed with it, though; it’s just difficult when that shank gets a bug in his noggin’, ya know? I reckon you had a right to bloody well know what was going on in that Maze.” He fixed her with a concerned expression, hesitantly putting a warm hand on her shoulder. “You look like you’re about to have a buggin’ heart attack; seems like that Griever gave you a bloody good scare.”

After a long moment, Lesley nodded. “It did,” she told him, swallowing heavily. She exhaled heavily as if she were expelling all the air from her lungs; every time she closed her eyes, she could see the horrific, gaping jaws of the creature. “Shuck, it really, really did. I thought I was gonna die before Minho turned up.”

Newt anxiously ran a hand through his hair again before turning to look at her. “Look, I know this is gonna be hard after all this klunk we’ve put you through - and I understand that I’m the last person who should be asking favours of you right now - but I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone what you saw out there today.”

Lesley looked at him with a cold, stony expression. “Give me one good reason,” she bit out.

Newt sighed, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “You gotta understand ... this is the first time any of those buggers have appeared during the day like that, out in the open, and _let you survive_ without so much as a _scratch_ ,” he began. “The other shanks will go crazy if we tell them you saw one not even a few weeks after you arrived in the Box, and mark my words, _they will be on your ass_ before you can explain yourself.” The intensity in his gaze shook Lesley as he jerked his head. “No; we gotta keep this quiet because this is bigger than all of us. We have to see if there is a pattern with these Grievers first. Our survival depends on everyone thinking clearly and not panicking. On _order_.”

Lesley exhaled again and ran her hands over her face, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t have the energy to fight any longer. Newt’s response had initially reignited the anger inside her once again, but even she could see the logic behind his reasoning. “Okay,” she relented hoarsely. “Okay. Fine.”

Above all, she was just _tired_. She just wanted to go to bed and sleep for ten years, haul the blankets up over her hammock and curl up beneath the covers and ignore everyone for a little while.

“Woah, woah, hey, Les,” Newt called, and Lesley pulled herself from her thoughts to realise she was swaying where she sat. The blond boy now sat perched in front of her, watching her with worried eyes. “You’re still awfully pale, Greenie. The shock’s hitting you a bit, yeah?”

Lesley nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, a bit,” she said weakly.

There was a beat, and something softened in his expression. “Alright, come here.”

Newt roughly hauled her forward into an embrace, and Lesley instinctively wrapped her arms around him, her hold tightening almost painfully within seconds. It was the first proper human contact she had had since arriving in the Glade, the first hug she had had in close to three weeks, and she felt the tears well up in her eyes once again, the droplets slipping down her ashen cheeks. She couldn’t remember being hugged by a mother, or a father. Just the feeling of knowing someone was there for her, just like Minho was back in the Maze, was almost too much to bear.

Newt patted her back comfortingly. “Come on, Greenie. Mop up ya tears - not on my shirt, mind you -”

Lesley laughed weakly, but it was a genuine sound.

When they finally pulled back a long few minutes later, Newt smiled kindly at her, moving his hand up to rest on her shoulder. “I’ll guard the showers so you can have ‘em to yourself for a while, have a chance to slim down. Good that? Well, Minho’s hogging them at the moment; won’t shut up about styling his hair -”

Lesley cracked a smile, wiping her eyes. “Good that,” she said quietly.

Newt’s expression turned earnest. He sighed softly. “You know, you can always change your mind,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to do something else instead ... of ...”

He slowly trailed off as Lesley’s face suddenly hardened with determination, her blue-grey eyes glinting. “I’ll show them,” was all she muttered. “I’ll show _him_.”

And that was when she made a decision.

She was going to help them solve that Maze even if it was the last thing she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here ends the section of Lesley's early days in the Glade! We'll be skipping forward a little bit in the next chapter.
> 
> The confrontation was heaps of fun to write! Alby really should have seen that coming. However, he's just trying to keep things together, and the moment things start to even slightly upset the order that he's had in place for years, well, can you blame him for wanting to keep things from Lesley?
> 
> I love the little moment with Newt in the Deadheads. And the first hug from Mama Newt!! He just realises that she needs someone in that moment. Also this is where the 'deceptions' part of the title comes into play, with the decision to keep the Griever discovery from the rest of the Gladers for the time being. Les is hoping like hell she won't have to see another one!!
> 
> Until next time. Feel free to leave comments/kudos!


	12. Greenie No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hop, skip and jump into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to move forward in the story a little bit! Aaaaand introducing another one of our favourite characters, guess who? ;) Read on!
> 
> (Heads up, there is a little bit of a shower scene and a flashback. Not what you think and nothing is described, but adding the note just in case)

**40 DAYS LATER**

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Ben!” Lesley shouted in greeting, grinning as they caught up with the other Runner three corridors away from the Glade; his partner, Chad, had rushed on ahead due to a desperate need to take a leak.

“Hey, Les, Minho,” Ben answered with a smile. “Found anything today?”

“No shuck luck,” Lesley replied, but she didn’t look too perturbed either. She reached out and punched his arm. “Always tomorrow, right?”

Something flickered in Minho’s expression as Ben nodded in agreement, smirking and rubbing his arm in mock hurt. “Always tomorrow,” he confirmed.

They crossed the Maze threshold and entered the Glade, the delicious smell of Frypan’s cooking already hitting Lesley as soon as they were out of the confines of the stone passageways. She inhaled deeply, looking about the Glade contentedly, listening to the sounds of daily life; wood being sawed, boys chattering, animals bleating.

They didn’t usually have a welcoming party upon their return home - the other boys were busy with their own workloads - however, today was apparently different. One of the other Gladers, Chuck, was standing there waiting for them with a boy at his side that Lesley had never seen before. She realised that he must be the new kid.

_Is it that time of the month already?_ she wondered, the thought causing her to grin wryly. Her eyes drifted to the centre of the Glade, where the infamous Box was set into the grass, and indeed saw multiple boys unloading crates of supplies; Alby was standing about waving his arms, evidently giving orders.

Their latest Greenie was another boy, tall and skinny with a head of dark hair, his short bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead. His features were spotted with freckles, which stood out against his pale complexion.

“Hey, Chuck,” Ben smiled, neither him nor Minho slowing down. “New Greenie, huh? How does it feel to be promoted?”

Chuck threw him a thumbs up. “Feels great, Ben.”

Lesley jogged to a stop, a warm smile on her face. It wouldn’t hurt to introduce herself to the newbie; goodness knows she had wanted the same on her own First Day. “Bet you’re pleased, aren’t ya, Chuckie?” she laughed, reaching out and affectionately ruffling the mess of brown curls sitting atop the boy’s head.

Chuck was the youngest Glader by far, maybe about twelve years old, and he had arrived four weeks previously. Since then - and despite having klunked his pants three times within a couple of hours of arriving up in the Box - he had somehow managed to capture everyone’s hearts with that endearing enthusiasm of his. He was short and chubby with a heart of gold.

“Sure am, Les,” Chuck grinned.

Lesley saw the Greenie’s gaze shift from Minho and Ben’s retreating backs to the towering Maze entrance. She nodded to herself, her gaze drifting over the stone wall in front of them. “It’s really somethin’, isn’t it?” she remarked. “I still remember looking at it on my first day here.”

The boy blinked and looked at Lesley as if suddenly remembering she was there. He had piercing, curious brown eyes. “Uh ...” he began intelligently. 

Laughing, she stuck out a hand. “The name’s Lesley, Greenie.”

After a second, he grasped her extended limb and shook it. “Wait, y-you’re a girl?” he stuttered incredulously.

“Well spotted,” Lesley laughed, eyes twinkling. “I’m the only one, but don’t get any ideas.”

“You coming, Les?” Minho shouted, halfway to the Homestead already.

“You bet your shank ass; I can already smell dinner! Later, Greenie,” she said, running off to join Minho, who offered her the last of the water from his flask. She eagerly guzzled it down.

“Lesley!” one of the Gladers, Dan, called out as they entered the Homestead, where about fifteen other boys were already gathered. “Did ya see we got another boy?”

“Sure did!” Lesley shouted back, her and Minho going and sitting beside Newt, who was at a table going through the list of food for the planned festivities that night and counting what had just come up in the Box, making sure that they didn’t run out before the next supply drop.

“Tough luck for ya, shank.”

Another Glader, Adam, rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a baby announcement.”

“Hey, Les!” Aidan, a shank with tousled brown hair shouted. “Speakin’ o’ which, wanna see some action?”

Several wolf whistles pierced the air.

“You wanna get your dumb shank ass tossed in the Slammer?” Lesley retorted, a smirk on her face as she comfortably deflected the crude humour.

“Ooooooh!” the Gladers hollered.

“Rejected, shuckface!” Minho jeered.

Aidan waggled his eyebrows. “Aw, c’mon, Lesley. You sure you don’t wanna? Heard the Deadheads are lovely this time o’ year -”

“I dunno, I think I’d rather roast your eggs over our Greenie’s bonfire tonight.”

“OOOOOOOH -!”

“Slim it!” Newt roared. “Bloody slintheads, you’re giving me a headache. Don’t you all have work to be doing? Say, a bonfire to be building?”

Laughing and chattering, the other boys rapidly scattered to finish their chores, heading off in all directions.

“I want that thing at least four feet tall by the time I’m done here!” Newt hollered after them, but he sounded far too cheerful for anyone to take him very seriously.

Lesley winced at the blond sitting beside her. “Sorry for egging them on,” she muttered as Minho clapped her on the back, grinning in approval.

Newt smirked suddenly, his brown eyes lighting up with amusement. “Nah, the shank deserved it,” he grinned. “Serves the buggin’ idiot right. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of their klunk.”

Lesley shrugged. “At least I know how to knock their egos down a notch.”

“Good that,” Newt chuckled as Minho snickered. “Go on, there’s a snack in the kitchen for you two, then you can go hog the showers for a while.” He wrinkled his nose. “You guys stink.”

“Shuck you,” Minho retorted, but his eyes betrayed his mirth.

“Haven’t you heard?” Lesley laughed. “It’s his new cologne. Eau de Maze.”

Minho flexed his arm muscles. “Smells like determination and masculinity. With a hint of tomboy thrown in,” he winked at Lesley.

Newt rolled his eyes, barely biting back his own grin. “Smells like _klunk_. Get outta here before I pass out from the stench.”

Lesley threw Newt a sloppy, sarcastic salute. “As you wish, Glade Mother.”

Newt playfully punched her arm. “Cheeky bugger.”

“Mama Nooooot,” Minho hollered as Lesley hauled him away. Newt simply flipped him off.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Wash time was always one of Lesley’s favourite parts of the day, right next to dinner. During the course of her stay, the cubicle at the far end of the shower block - which had always been her own unofficial stall - had had an extra board hastily nailed onto the side wall courtesy of Gally, and it had truly become Lesley’s very own showering space, where she could rinse off the grime from the day and relax under the warm water without fear of prying eyes as she congratulated herself on another hard day’s work in the Maze.

Little did she know, the Keeper in the next stall was similarly deep in thought as he ran soap through his hair; the arrival of their latest Greenie was making him more contemplative than usual, he realised.

Lesley had become one of their best Runners, rivaling even Minho himself and becoming quite the team with him, something that he truly hadn’t expected. She was fun, with a warped but wicked sense of humour that always brought a lot of laughter to their routine, mixed with his usual sarcasm and sass as they ran the stone passageways.

Lesley often spent her evenings going over the maps with keen eyes, making notes, scribbling things down as she matched the Maze in her memory with the one on paper, long after the other Runners had finished up for the day. As the days had passed, she had begun to earn true respect amongst the Gladers, not just based on admiration that she was a girl; a handshake here, a smile there, a shared piece of food the odd night. Not that he’d say it aloud, but Minho felt a swell of pride in his chest every time he saw these interactions with the girl who was as much a shank as the rest of them.

She seemed happy and confident with her place in the Glade now, growing accustomed to her daily role. It was a far cry from her situation a little over a month previously.

_“Minho, do you think we knew each other before all this?”_

The question had irked him to no end ever since she had uttered the words. Minho hadn’t revealed to anyone, not even Newt, the flash of memory that Lesley had experienced back in the Maze all those days ago - not that she had revealed the details to him anyway; he felt that the secret was only her own to share.

To his knowledge, she hadn’t remembered anything further, but if she had, she had kept it to herself. In fact, Lesley seemed to keep anything related to that day locked in the back of her mind, firmly out of reach, and heaven help you if you tried to ask her about it.

The days following the Griever encounter had not been easy. Lesley had thrown herself into her role with a ferocity that had astounded Minho, Newt, and even Alby, not giving herself the time she needed to process what had happened, and barely stopping to eat or rest. When they weren’t in the Maze, she had been in the Map Room, pouring over the model as if their lives depended on it - well, even more so than usual.

Nine days later, it had finally hit.

_Gritting his teeth, Minho shoved the stall door open to find the source of the noise - and immediately stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, Les,” he breathed._

_She was curled up on the shower floor with her legs tucked up right against her chest, her arms wrapped around her knees, crying her eyes out._

_And she was absolutely,_ completely _naked._

_Swallowing thickly and hurriedly averting his gaze, Minho looked around frantically. The moment his gaze settled on the towel hanging on a rusting hook on the wall, he snatched the cloth down and stepped forward. Reaching for the shower knob, he turned off the water and crouched down beside Lesley, wrapping the garment around her shoulders to protect some of her modesty, trying to keep his eyes away._

_She was shaking violently and staring at one spot on the floor, barely seeming aware of what was around her._

_“Lesley?” he called softly. “Come on, shank. Talk to me.”_

_She jerked violently, as if pulled from a space in her thoughts that he couldn’t reach. “Just go,” she said shakily._

_Minho shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving this shower until you tell me what’s going on, Les,” he growled, his features flickering with concern despite the harsh tone of his voice; he was simply worried for her wellbeing._

_Lesley swallowed thickly. “Grievers,” she choked out hoarsely, the word barely louder than a whisper._

_That was when Minho realised that her boldness, her tenacity since encountering the hideous creature had merely been a charade. It was why she had the dark circles under her eyes, why her smile had barely reached farther than her mouth; why she was losing weight, why her mind perpetually seemed to be elsewhere despite being so intensely focused on the Maze. She wasn’t healthy, and he hadn’t been the only person to notice it by far._

_He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against his side. “It’s okay, shank,” he murmured. He felt her body begin to shake again, followed by a heartrending sob that made her torso spasm. “Let it go. It’s okay.”_

_They didn’t let her into the Maze for four days after that. Under Newt’s watchful eye, she regained the sleep that she had lost, and the colour and strength returned to her features; even Alby didn’t dare intervene, and if the vaguely guilty expression on his face was anything to go by, he knew he was somewhat responsible. Frypan always put aside leftovers in case she slept through meals, and the boys were careful to make sure she ate; even Gally was gentler in his wrestling, and Winston cracked jokes to make her smile._

_None of them had been told, and yet all of them somehow knew that something about the Maze had frightened Lesley. Some assumed that it was the remainder of her first day freak out that had finally hit; others wondered if Minho had taken her further into the Maze and shown her things that only the Runners were privy to. However, they did not question it, only offered comfort and support as Lesley was confined to the Glade._

_Every single one of those days though, she waited at the Doors an hour before sunset, waiting for the moment that Ben and Minho would return to the Glade._

_That was the first time Lesley hugged the Keeper._

“Oi, Min! Earth to Minho!”

Minho was dragged abruptly from his thoughts. “What?” he asked, aiming for an annoyed tone but sounding far too amused to pull it off.

The top of Lesley’s head came into view on the other side of the stall. “You finished yet?” she asked, standing on tiptoe, her blue-grey eyes twinkling with mischief.

Minho rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Toss me my towel, will you, shank?”

The cloth came down and smacked him in the face a moment later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crude humour galore! Yes, welcome to a society full of teenage boys. I upped the rating as well because there are parts of this story I have no idea what's going to happen.
> 
> On that note! Yes, I'm updating very frequently! Do I have lots of inspiration? Do I have no life? Do I adore this fic too much? Yes, yes and yes! Tbh I had already written about 60% of this fic when I started uploading it, because TMR is a complicated universe and I wanted to have the major plot points and scenes from all three fics (yes, there will be three in this series) figured out before I started writing, so I didn't have to go back and edit it all later.
> 
> INTRODUCING THOMAS! FINALLY! Yes, he has now made his debut into the world of this fic. I'm actually super excited for the opportunities and events his character is going to bring to the story - which will, of course, follow along the movie but with different characters, perspectives, and extra scenes.
> 
> It's nice to see Lesley all settled in the Glade, making jokes with the boys. The Maze perfume is still one of my favourite lines, to date. Poor Newt, just trying to do his work, haha.
> 
> Thoughts on that little shower moment? It also helped cement the bond between Minho and Lesley. She went through something traumatic and she had been trying desperately to hold herself together. Didn't work, obviously. Moral of the story: don't bottle everything up, Les!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around for another chapter! Feel free to leave comments and kudos!


	13. Bonfire Reprisals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt makes a friend, Lesley gets drunk, and Gally wrestles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't resist uploading another one. I love this chapter for a bunch of reasons, mainly because of the contrast between Lesley's first bonfire night and this one. Enjoy the Glader shenanigans!

The night was alive with drumbeats and laughter, singing and chattering as the Gladers gathered around the roaring, blistering bonfire once again for their favourite monthly celebration, flasks full of Gally’s treasured homemade moonshine gripped tightly in their hands as they feasted on another of Frypan’s glorious meals, comparable to a banquet in contrast with their usual portions. Wooden and metal plates alike were crammed with food and hearts were brimming with cheer; there was guffawing and good-natured shouting all around the fire.

They could have been the only ones in the world in that moment.

Alby held out a mug to Lesley as she finally left the beloved and worn wrestling ring, the left side of her face plastered with dirt. “Another round?” he asked her, white teeth gleaming in the firelight.

She grinned and took it; it was good to see the genuine, relaxed smiles on everyone’s faces - even Alby’s own. “Why not? Cheers.”

He smacked his cup against hers in a toast. “Cheers.”

Turning away, Lesley moved around the bonfire, heading for where the Runners were all sitting and also passing Frypan to grab some extra grub. She smiled to herself; a month on from her harsh confrontation with Alby, the two of them weren’t exactly best friends, but their working relationship had improved immensely, something she was grateful for. They got along fairly well now and respected each other; Alby even made a point of asking for her thoughts on things every now and then, something that he was not obligated to do, but a gesture that was appreciated all the same.

“Giving Gally a run for his money, I see,” Minho smirked as she sat down beside him.

“You bet your ass I am,” Lesley laughed, stretching out her legs to make herself more comfortable. She pointed at her face. “He got me back in the end, though. Always does, the shank.”

Reaching forward, Minho obnoxiously licked the palm of his hand and rubbed it against her cheek, making her shriek and jump backwards. “Eww, that’s gross, you slinthead!” she wailed, playfully smacking his arm and biting back a grin as Minho sniggered. To be fair, he had removed a portion of the grit from her face, but she wasn’t about to thank him just yet, not when her face was now smeared with his saliva.

Exhaling happily, Ben plonked himself down next to Lesley, holding his plate up for them to see. “Extra beef, Les?” he asked. “Got some for you too, Minho.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lesley smiled, grabbing a portion each for both herself and Minho as the Keeper held his dish up as well. “Thanks, Ben. Got some more cob if you want it.”

“Good that,” Ben grinned, reaching over and plucking the stick of corn off her plate. “You’re a legend.”

“I try,” Lesley laughed, and Minho snorted loudly into his drink, earning a firm elbow to the side. Ben waggled his eyebrows at them; she ignored him.

At a flash of white, Lesley turned her head and saw Newt heading away from the bonfire, two cups of moonshine in his hands. “Hey, Newt, where you off to?” she called out. “The party’s over here!”

“I’m checking on the Greenie!” Newt answered.

Lesley’s gaze drifted; the poor boy had wandered off by himself, and was now sitting far from the bonfire against a fallen log, staring at the Doors. She nodded; it wouldn’t do for the newbie to isolate himself on his first day. “Good that!”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Lesley landed hard on her back, laughing. “You piece of klunk!” she yelled as there were deafening cheers around her. It hadn’t taken her long to return to the wrestling ring.

Gally grinned, reaching out a hand to pull her to her feet. “Yeah, that’s what you get when you -”

Lesley swung her legs suddenly, hitting Gally’s shins and sweeping his feet out from under him, sending him crashing heavily to the ground.

Many of the watching boys tensed, falling silent, but Gally just laughed, brushing sand off his face. “Hey, that’s dirty, slinthead!” he shouted, grinning. “But I’ll give you that.”

The cheers started up again, with many of them crowing Lesley’s name at the top of their voices, drowning out everything else anyone had to say.

Lesley grabbed Gally’s forearm and helped pull him to his feet, both of them grinning. “I learnt from the best,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Gally playfully clipped the back of her head. “Kiss-ass shuckface. Another round?”

Lesley instantly dropped into wrestling stance as the watching Gladers cheered. “You’re on!”

Newt chuckled, watching them as he and the newbie rejoined the group near the bonfire. “Funnily enough,” he started saying, “you’d think Gally would hate being pushed around by a girl, but Les is the _only_ one here who’s allowed to pull klunk like that. None of the other shanks could get away with it even if they bloody well tried.”

His gaze flitted across the watching crowd, and did a double-take when he noticed that Minho was staring at Lesley with something akin to awe. Newt laughed to himself, a smirk stretching across his features; he’d have to ask the shank about it later.

The boy walking alongside him raised his eyebrows. “Are they ...?” he trailed off, gesturing with his hands as he jerked his head towards Gally and Lesley.

“Nah.” Newt shook his head. “More like brother and sister.”

As Gally threw her towards the edge of the circle, Lesley stumbled backwards and crashed into the newbie, the boy gasping at the unexpected impact.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Lesley exclaimed, starting to giggle madly as she toppled over and hit the ground. “You okay there, Greenie?”

The boy nodded jerkily, righting himself. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Newt raised his eyebrows, fighting back a grin as a deeply amused expression settled on his features. It seemed that Lesley had already consumed quite a bit of Gally’s moonshine that evening; she was decidedly merry ... and uncharacteristically cocky.

“Holy moly, Les,” Gally laughed, holding out an arm and hauling Lesley to her feet. “You alright?”

She nodded, grinning brightly. “Never better.”

“Bloody hell, Les,” Newt laughed. He leaned around the new boy to look over at the group of Runners. “Oi, Minho, did you get this shank drunk?”

Minho shrugged. “We’re here for a good time, not a long time!” he yelled back.

Newt’s grin widened. “Good that, but _you_ can deal with the buggin’ hangover tomorrow! Les, go get some water or something,” he added, unable to hold back a snigger. “Come on. Off you go.”

“Yes, sir,” Lesley mock saluted. She looked at Gally. “Yeah, I think I’ll take a break. Maybe get some more food.”

Gally clapped her on the shoulder. “Good that, Les. Can’t have you kicking my ass the whole night,” he teased, grinning as she left the circle. He glanced over at the new boy and raised his eyebrows in question. “What do you say, Greenie? Wanna see what you’re made of?”

The boy just stood there uncertainly, his gaze flicking around anxiously.

“Greenie, Greenie!” Jeff began to chant.

Well, there was no way Lesley was missing out on a good, old fashioned induction session, despite her own taking weeks when it came to the wrestling ring. “Greenie! Greenie!” she continued, clapping her hands to the syllables and grinning as she rejoined Newt and Ben at the edge of the circle.

The other boys took up the call, the chant getting louder and faster as more boys rushed to the edge of the wrestling ring. “Greenie! Greenie! GREENIE! GREENIE! GREENIE! GREENIE!”

The Gladers pressed closer to the circle. Trying to move away from the crowd, the boy took a step forward into the ring; instantly, the clapping turned to boisterous cheering, shouts and hollers sounding out. A look of pure dread settled on the boy’s face, sweat already beading on his brow.

“Okay, alright,” Gally called, flexing his admittedly impressive arm muscles. “The rules are simple, Greenie. I try to push you out of the circle, and _you_ try to last more than five seconds.” There were snickers amongst the crowd.

“Take it easy on the Greenie, Gal!” Lesley called cheerfully as Minho finally abandoned his plate of food and came and stood next to her.

Gally smirked. “Ready?” he asked.

Less than a second later he surged forward, grabbing the boy’s forearms in a strong hold and shoving him backwards, his feet sliding as he rapidly fought for traction on the sandy ground.

It didn’t work, and Gally slammed the boy backwards into Zart and Wyck, the two Gladers howling with laughter as they caught him before he completely tumbled backwards. Lifting him upright, they threw the Greenie back into the circle. He had barely found his feet again when Gally shoved him hard across his back and he ended up sprawled on the ground, earning a face full of sand for his efforts.

Lesley pursed her lips as jeers rose up around the circle. Okay, maybe she did feel a little sorry for him.

“Get up, boy!” one of the Gladers, Doug, called.

Gally bounced on the balls of his feet, staring down at the new boy. “Come on, Greenie,” he said, barely panting. “We’re not done yet.”

The boy staggered to his feet and tugged his blue shirt back down, staring daggers. “Stop calling me Greenie.”

“Ooooh,” the taunting sound drifted through the crowd.

“Stop calling you that?” Gally repeated, raising his eyebrows. “What do you want to be called? Shank?”

There were guffaws and hoots of laughter, the Gladers cheering. Lesley elbowed Minho lightly in the ribs, smirking; he returned the look with an amused roll of his eyes.

“What do you think, boys?” Gally asked the watching crowd, starting to walk a slow circle around the newbie. “Does he look like a shank?”

The boy lunged forward and Gally bent his knees, bracing himself for the impact. The two locked biceps, both scrabbling for dominance as their feet slipped and skidded in the sand, pushing and shoving against one another until Gally gained the upper hand and slammed him into the ground again.

“You know what?” Gally said decidedly. “I think I’ve settled on shank.”

The new boy launched himself at Gally’s waist; Gally wasted no time in shoving against him, grabbing the boy’s torso and pushing him backwards towards the edge of the ring.

Until the newbie suddenly darted sideways, and with a rough shove to his shoulders Gally went crashing to the ground.

“OOOOOOOOH!” the Gladers yelled.

"YES!" Lesley roared, clapping her hands. "COME ON!"

“There you go, Greenie!” Alby cheered, grinning madly.

The boy stood over Gally, panting heavily. “Not bad for a Greenie, huh?”

Without warning, Gally rolled over and swung his legs, slamming his feet against the boy’s shins and sending the boy tumbling to the ground once again, his head smacking painfully against the sand.

“OOOOH -!”

Lesley winced. “Ow,” she muttered sympathetically.

Slowly, the hollering and chattering began to die down, everyone waiting for the Greenie to stand up again. Even Gally’s brow pinched in concern as he staggered upright, massaging his wrist.

Finally, the boy lifted his head, his eyes shockingly wide. “T-Thomas. Hey!” he exclaimed breathlessly, scrambling to his feet. His gaze swept the circle. “Thomas!”

A slow grin spread across Lesley’s face, a warmth fluttering in her chest. She glanced sideways and saw the expression of dawning realisation on Newt’s face, his eyes twinkling. Standing nearby, Chuck beamed with pride.

The newbie laughed, the sound relieved and incredulous all at once. “I remember my name!” he shouted. “It - I’m Thomas!”

There was a moment of silence, the Gladers looking around at each other with wide smiles on their faces.

“THOMAS!” Alby suddenly yelled, pointing at him with a huge grin spreading across his features.

The Gladers broke out cheering, hollers and shouts rising up into the night air; Lesley enthusiastically added her own voice to the clamour. Ben shoved a cup of moonshine into Thomas’s hand, and he instantly spat it out after just a single mouthful, sending good-natured laughter rippling through the festivities. Gladers were congratulating him, welcoming him to their group, clapping him on the back.

Even Gally stepped forward, clasping his arm. “Good job, Thomas,” he told him, a small, genuine smile on his face.

Lesley clapped Thomas warmly on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family -”

A thunderous, spine-chilling roar suddenly cut through the air, followed by a piercing shriek that instantly made everyone fall silent, heads turning and eyes flicking to the Doors as a tense air began to settle over the Gladers. It was like a bucket of freezing cold water had been thrown over Lesley, encrusting her insides with ice.

“What the hell _was_ that?” Thomas asked shakily.

Gally swallowed, his jaw tightening. “That, my friend, was a Griever.”

Turning her head, Lesley glanced over at Newt. He caught her eye and nodded, a look of understanding passing between them; Newt had told Thomas about the creatures in the Maze. They weren’t making the same mistake a second time around.

Gally turned to look at Thomas again. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here with us,” he assured him. “Nothing gets through those walls.”

There was the low distant rumble of the towering stones shifting deep within the Maze, the ground trembling beneath their feet ever so slightly. This time, though, the noise seemed ominous rather than comforting, as it had usually been to Lesley.

“Alright, guys,” Alby called. “Let’s tuck in for the night. Come on.” He clapped his hands. “It was a good night!”

As the Gladers began to disperse with murmurs of agreement, Lesley found herself staring towards the Doors, abruptly feeling rather sick; she wished she hadn’t drunk so much of Gally’s punch.

She heard footsteps. “Not easy to forget, is it?” Minho said softly.

Lesley shook her head, swallowing hard.

Minho clapped her warmly on the shoulder. “Come on, try and get some sleep,” he told her with a small smile. “Good that, shank?”

Lesley forced herself to smile back. “Good that.”

The two of them turned and headed towards the Homestead, Thomas staring curiously after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome home, Thomas! The Greenie remembers his name, yay! Just to reinstate, yes this story will be following along the lines of the movie, but with added scenes, characters and dialogue, since we'll be seeing a lot of this from Lesley's perspective. (Also, sneaky Newt perspective in this chapter! That was fun. Also him turning into Mama!Newt when he realises how much Lesley has drunk)
> 
> Look at her; one of the boys, now. I'm proud of her, not just for holding her liquor haha *sighs* This'll be the last of the peace she has for a little while. Thomas brings a whole lot of trouble with him, unbeknownst to the rest of them!  
> (I also love that little Min-Les moment at the end there. They're there for each other when they need it now.)
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and kudos! Really appreciate the feedback xx


	14. Quips and Quarrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Runners mess around, the Maze misbehaves, and Minho is protective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters were all written and edited together because it's essentially one big scene and I was still working on the flow of them (whilst eyeing my average word count per chapter), so they will all be up within a couple of days of each other!  
> Without further ado!

“Dunno what it is with all these Greenies,” Newt laughed, shaking his head as he strolled towards the Doors with Lesley early the next morning, his body language relaxed, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Surprisingly, neither of them had woken up with a hangover, despite how much they’d drunk the previous night. “The second Thomas was out of the Box, he took off running, same as you.”

Lesley laughed. “Really? Damn, you shanks gotta stop terrorising them with these initiation rituals right off the bat,” she teased.

“Hardy, har, har,” Newt replied sarcastically, playfully swatting at her as his grin returned with full force. “You did a better job, though. This guy ran halfway across the Glade and then bloody face-planted in the dirt.”

“No way!” Lesley exclaimed, suddenly howling with laughter.

Newt chuckled, finding the sound contagious. “Wish you’d seen it, Les. There’s hope for you Runners yet,” he added, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Don’t let Minho hear you saying that -”

“Hear you saying what?”

Newt laughed as Minho arrived at the Doors. “Our Greenie did a runner on us yesterday and decided to acquaint his face with the ground. And quite hard, I might add. Surprised he didn’t flatten his nose, the poor shank.”

As the gargantuan slabs of stone began to move behind them, Minho let out a low whistle, fighting back a smirk. “Well, at least he - oh, hey, look who it is!” he shouted, jogging on the spot as he warmed himself up for the day ahead.

Still sniggering, Lesley turned around and saw Alby walking towards them, their latest newbie trailing meekly behind him with an eager and curious expression on his features, his eyes wide as he stared up at the shifting Doors.

“Ah, the Greenie’s getting the tour!” Lesley grinned, copying Minho and starting to stretch her legs; morning cramp was officially the worst, she had discovered. “Thomas, right?”

He nodded bashfully. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m just showing him around before the rest of these shanks get up,” Alby told her, folding his arms as the towering blocks of stone shuddered to a halt within their cavities, out of sight and leaving the entrance to the Maze clear.

“Good that,” Lesley replied. “Heard the Box was late again yesterday.”

“It was,” Alby confirmed.

Newt grinned. “Glad to see the moonshine didn’t give ya much of a hangover, Tommy,” he said teasingly. “You should’ve seen Les on her second day. Was _not_ a morning gal back then.”

“Still isn’t,” Minho teased, stretching a muscular arm.

Unable to reach Minho, Lesley settled for elbowing Newt in the ribs. “Oh, slim it,” she retorted, barely holding back a grin. “I had been ... oh, what’s the phrase? _Drowning my sorrows_.”

Newt snorted, his eyes shining with barely concealed humour, and even Alby cracked a smile.

Minho grinned. “Come on, shank!” he called cheerfully, jerking his head in the direction of the Maze. “Day’s a’ wasting.”

“Yeah, quit ya yapping!” Ben smirked, cheekily slapping Minho on the ass as he ran past with the other three Runners; the Keeper aimed a kick in his direction. “We’re running separate lines today, Min!” he called out as he raced into the Maze.

“Your funeral,” Minho retorted by way of acknowledgment. “Curly is the only one keeping your shuck ass out of trouble!”

“Hear, hear!” Chad laughed, high-fiving Ben just before he turned down a different passage to his partner, following one of the other boys.

Their shoulders still shaking with laughter, Newt pulled Lesley into a brief embrace, as was usual for them. As she moved away he called, “Don’t have too much fun, Les!”

Lesley threw Newt a sloppy, exaggerated salute and a grin before jogging off into the Maze after Minho. “Can I smack your ass, too?” she asked the Keeper. “You know, for luck?”

Minho snorted humorously. “Good _luck_ trying to catch it,” he told her, picking up his pace and racing ahead.

“Oi! You slinthead!”

With both Lesley’s and Minho’s laughter echoing down the stone passage, the two of them turned a corner and disappeared into the gloom a few seconds later, the shadows swallowing them up. 

Thomas stared after them, his brow furrowed. “You guys always this casual about entering the Maze?” he asked.

Newt shrugged, but his eyes darkened with a flash of memory. “Not always,” was all he replied.

“I thought you said it was dangerous out there?” Thomas pressed.

As if a mask had suddenly been snapped into place, Newt rolled his eyes, a small smirk appearing on his face. “We gotta have some fun,” he told Thomas. “If it’s the last time we’re gonna see the shanks, we better make it a good one.”

Thomas stuttered, unable to find a reply. As Newt turned and walked off towards the fields, Alby clapped the newbie on the shoulder. “Come on, Thomas,” he said, grabbing the knife from his belt and turning it over in his hands. “Got things to do.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

An hour into their run, Minho told Lesley to pick a route and stick to it, and she was quietly pleased by the opportunity to take the lead. They were moving westwards that day; it was a chance for Lesley to work on her inner compass. With each passing week, she was getting better at instinctively knowing her heading.

The flicker of pride in Minho’s eyes spurred her on like nothing else. Over time, the walls of the Maze had become familiar to Lesley in a way she hadn’t expected. Each was unique, and covered in identifying marks; strings of ivy here, grooves in the stone there. It meant she was able to remember routes, to navigate the vast labyrinth far more efficiently, because at any given point she could at least vaguely estimate where she was in relation to the Glade.

Lesley felt the sweat starting to settle on her body, uncomfortably damp and icky, but she was no longer embarrassed by it; it was an unfortunate side effect suffered by all the Runners, even Minho.

They ran in comfortable silence. The first half hour was always their most sociable period, before words faded to pants of breath, and footsteps and heartbeats thundered in sync. Lesley always found herself gravitating towards Minho; they made a great team, one born of hard work, trust, and respect. Running together had brought her far closer to him than with any of the other boys, besides Newt. It was as if the adrenaline, the thrill, the sense of danger had bypassed the usual methods of bonding.

Either way, Lesley felt a sense of peace as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The sun was shining, the shadows slowly shifting across the ground, and the sky was a vibrant blue over their heads. It was just another day in the Maze.

And that was when a shrill, piercing scream pierced the quiet.

Lesley’s blood ran cold.

“What the shuck?” Minho muttered as he skidded to a halt beside Lesley, his eyes wide as he peered upwards, mouth falling open.

Lesley stood there panting, her breath coming out in uneven gasps as her gaze darted around; of course, they couldn’t see anything from their current position, butshe could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through her veins, urging her to move, or do _something_. She swallowed heavily, her palms sweaty as she clenched and unclenched her hands multiple times.

The two Runners stood in silence for a long few moments, waiting, each passing second simply excruciating, but the air was still and soundless apart from their own frantic breathing, of which Lesley’s was rapidly increasing as memories flashed through her mind of a similar stone passage, and a monster rising up above her -

“Well, that’s that,” Minho said, his voice low and serious, thankfully interrupting her traumatic recollections. “I’m gonna go see what’s going on out there.”

Lesley did not miss the use of the singular pronoun. Her mind screeched to a halt, panic and terror suddenly overwhelming her like a crushing wave. “Like hell I’m letting you stay out here by yourself!” she snapped, her fear twisting into anger as the words burst from her mouth; even Minho looked taken aback. “Not after last -!”

She choked on her words, face turning a shade paler.

His eyes widening with understanding, Minho immediately snapped into action, rushing forward and clamping his hands down on her shoulders. “Breathe, Les, okay? Come on, in, out. Ben has probably stubbed his toe or something stupid like that; maybe it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lesley said firmly, swallowing heavily. “That was a scream of _torture_ , and you know it.”

“Alright, yes, it was,” Minho admitted. “It could be anything, though. We don’t know. Hell, some dumb shank might have tried to climb the walls and -”

Minho abruptly stopped himself short, eyes glazing over as his face turned a vaguely ashen shade. And that, in itself, was just as terrifying for Lesley as the sound, if not even more so.

“Min?” she whispered, voice cracking.

Finally, Minho seemed to come back to himself. He cleared his throat and shook his head firmly. “Listen, shank. I’m Keeper for a reason. I’ve been running this Maze almost as long as I’ve been in the Glade. Trust me on this one; it’s my responsibility to look after the rest of you.”

Lesley bit her lip, worrying the soft skin between her teeth. “But still. You - I -”

“Tell you what, shank,” Minho said, beckoning for her to follow as he started making his way back through the stone corridors. His voice was eerily calm. “You report to Newt while I figure out what’s going on, yeah? See if any of the other Runners have gone back to Glade.”

But Lesley wasn’t giving up that easily, her face a mask of worry. “Minho, what was wrong with what you said before? Has someone -?”

Abruptly, Minho swung around to face her and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, twisting it in a white knuckle hold as he yanked her towards him. “Now, you listen to me very closely, Lesley,” he hissed, leaning in close until they were nose to nose. “That isn’t my story to tell, nor yours to hear unless given _express_ permission. You got it?”

Lesley stared at him, frightened by the sudden change in his demeanor; there was something deadly, something fearful in his tone that she had never heard before. She nodded silently, swallowing thickly.

His jaw tightening, Minho lurched backwards, releasing his hold and starting off at a jog; without question, Lesley was expected to follow.

But it was if Minho’s words had torn the oxygen from her lungs, her heart racing anxiously. She gulped down as much air as she could before starting after Minho again. “Minho! Minho, wait!”

He didn’t slow, her words falling on deaf ears. Gritting her teeth, Lesley picked up her pace, catching up to him mere seconds later. Lunging forward, she grabbed his arm and tugged Minho to a rough halt, spinning him around to face her.

“Minho?” she tried again, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. “Please. You’re scaring me. Are you alright?”

Minho finally met her gaze. After a long moment, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, Les.” He exhaled heavily, the tension lingering in his eyes. “Shuck, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Lesley smiled weakly. “No, but I shouldn’t have pushed you, either. It’s okay.”

Minho’s face softened and he threw her a small, genuine smile that let her know she was forgiven. “Come on,” he said, his voice far gentler than it had been before. “Let’s get you back to the Glade. I need to go check this out.”

Lesley folded her arms. “But, what if there’s another -” She paused, trying to steady her emotions. Shuck, she still struggled to talk about them. “What if there really is another Griever out there?”

Minho shrugged, undeterred. “Then I’ll scare the shuck thing away with my manliness like I did last time.”

And just like that, everything was back to normal.

Lesley’s eyes bulged, a vaguely hysterical laugh bursting from her mouth. “You did not!” she exclaimed. “You looked like a complete madman, standing there waving your knives in the air.”

Minho raised his eyebrows at her as he started backing away. “Did the trick, though, didn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable,” Lesley grumbled, but it sounded far too fond as she started running after him. It was as if Minho’s words had wrapped around her like a warm blanket, quietly smothering her fear to a point that it was manageable, so that she could breathe and focus again.

Having said that, she was so caught up in her thoughtsthat she didn’t notice the passing stretches of passageways until they were jogging down the home stretch towards the Glade, the green sunlit fields open and welcoming as the sounds and smells of farm work reached Lesley’s senses.

But it felt _wrong_ to be back so early.

Slowing down, Minho gently pushed her forward across the threshold. “And this is where I leave you, my lady,” he said.

Lesley bit her lip again, her gut twisting uncomfortably. “Min, are you absolutely sure you don’t want backup?”

“You’re a literal Griever magnet, Lesley. I’d rather live today, thanks,” Minho teased, but there was an undercurrent of concern to his words. His gaze turned earnest, his smile fading. “Stay here where it’s safe, alright, shank? I’ll go and check things out.”

Lesley reached out and grabbed his arm before he could leave, and was suddenly shaken by the urge to pull him closer. She shoved the thought aside. “Just come back soon, alright? Just in case.” She shook her head. “Something doesn't feel right.”

Minho nodded. “I’ll only be a couple of hours,” he said. “I’m just scouting the area; I’ll be back way before the Doors shut.”

“Good that.”

They stayed like that for a long, heavy moment before Lesley came to her senses and finally let go of his arm. “Sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing.

“Aw, shank, miss me already?” Minho cooed, backing away down the ivy corridor with a wicked grin on his face.

Lesley flipped him off, and Minho just laughed as he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. As soon as he was gone, Lesley spun on her heel and headed straight for the gardens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how they grow. Lesley doesn't even react to the Doors opening any more, haha.
> 
> Writing Glader bants is one of my absolute favourite things! I adore the interactions between the boys and Les, they make me laugh so much. It always flows naturally, like telling a funny story I already know - the words just come to mind! I just let them talk and I write it down.
> 
> So of course the big talking point is the *ahem* slight argument between Minho and Lesley. She's scared, and he's trying to be reasonable and help calm her. BUT THEN. Lesley gets a little too pushy because she cares. I'm sure you all noticed exactly who Minho was referring to; the poor guy is still fiercely protective of his best friend and his secret, and it made me a little emotional writing it. (Maybe Lesley will find out what he was talking about in the future? Who knows?)
> 
> Thanks for being here for another chapter! Feel free to leave comments and kudos! :) xx see you soon with the next update.


	15. A Chase and a Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas is persistent, Newt and Lesley chat, and Ben has a very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands down, this has been one of my FAVOURITE chapters to write!! Enjoy!

Newt was exactly where Lesley had thought he would be, working in the gardens in his orange singlet, his off-white shirt tied around his waist as he knotted bits of twine to the plants that were steadily climbing the wooden staves. His sharp eyes were focused on the movements of his fingers.

“The ivy doesn’t go all the way to the top,” Newt was saying to a dark-haired boy. Lesley blinked, realising that Thomas was working near him - well, leaning on a shovel. “And besides, where are you gonna go from there?”

Thomas’s gaze swept the Glade. “What about the Box?” he pressed. “You know, next time it comes up -”

“No, we tried that,” Newt interrupted, not even sparing him a glance. “The Box won’t go down with someone in it.”

“What about lowering a rope with someone after it’s gone back down?”

“Didn’t you see the concrete lid that thing has over the grates?” Newt asked. “Not bloody likely. We don’t have the tools to smash through that.”

Thomas began to look frustrated. “Okay, what if we -”

“No, we tried it, alright? _Twice_ ,” Newt said firmly as he finally turned to face him, his voice laced with annoyance as he let out an exasperated laugh. “Alright? Trust me. Anything you think of, we’ve already tried.”

Lesley stepped up to them. “Like it or not, Thomas, the only way out of this place is through _that_ maze,” she said, jerking a thumb at the labyrinth entrance behind her.

Newt whirled around, his frown disappearing to be replaced by a confused smile. “Les!” he greeted. “Was the Maze a little boring for you today?”

Despite the tease, she could hear the hidden question in his words, the carefully concealed concern in the presence of the other Gladers. She jerked her head a little to the side. “A word, Newt.”

Nodding, Newt glanced at Thomas. “Now, look, you wanna be helpful? Here.” He tossed the boy a woven basket. “Go dig us up some more fertiliser.”

Without another word, the second-in-command brushed the soil off his hands and followed after Lesley, Thomas staring curiously after them.

She was careful to lead Newt out of earshot of the other Gladers; the other boys were far too nosy for their own good, and her early arrival back in the Glade was already bound to attract attention. Lesley could see the worry in Newt’s expression, but was grateful that he was patiently holding back any questions he had until she initiated the conversation.

Finally, she brought them to a stop at the edge of the Deadheads, and Lesley bit her lip, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She folded her arms, as if she were physically trying to hold herself together. “Newt,” she started, lowering her voice, “ _something’s_ going on out in the Maze.”

Newt’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “You - you didn’t -” He swallowed, glancing anxiously around them. “You didn’t see another Griever, did you?”

Lesley shook her head quickly, the movement jerky. “No. No, thank the Creators,” she said in a hurried exhale. “We just heard screaming about a half hour ago. Don’t know who - or what - it was, though.”

Newt bit the inside of his cheek, brow creasing worriedly. “Where’s Minho?” he asked. “He still out searching?”

Lesley nodded, relieved that Newt was catching on so quickly. “Min brought me back here so he could go see if he could find anything.” She glanced up at the sun’s position in the sky. “Said he’d be back in a couple of hours to report; I’m holding him to that.”

“See that you do,” Newt said, a thoughtful but troubled expression on his face as his eyes drifted to the Maze.

Lesley noticed. “Has anyone else returned early?”

Newt shook his head. “It’s just you. Haven’t heard a peep from the other Runners since they went into the Maze this morning.”

Lesley pursed her lips, nodding as her gaze swept across the Glade. She felt sounsettled after what had happened that morning; it was like she couldn’t get comfortable in her own skin, no matter where she was. “Okay. I’ll be in the Map Room if you need me.”

Newt squeezed her wrist briefly, as if able to sense her unease. “Keep me posted, yeah, Les?”

“Will do.”

With a nod of acknowledgement and a warm clap on the shoulder, Newt turned back towards the gardens while Lesley trudged deep into the Deadheads, letting the dark and the quiet swallow her up.

She couldn’t decide if the solitude was better or worse for her sanity. Her persistent mind kept going over her earlier conversation - or, rather, disagreement - with Minho. The words were turning over and over in her head in a torturous loop.

Why the hell hadn’t she stayed quiet? She had pushed Minho and she’d undoubtedly deserved his anger. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? They had a good thing going. Why did she have to ruin the moment, when he had been so kind and comforting towards her? Why did she have to be so nosy?

And, more importantly, why the hell was she agonising over it so much?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Lesley groaned to herself, pressing her hands against the side of her head and squeezing briefly as if she could force the thoughts from her mind. “Come on, pull yourself together, shank.”

And that was when she heard the faint babble of someone’s voice.

Lesley gritted her teeth, throwing her hands up in the air. “I am so done with klunk!” she snarled to herself, stomping forward through the trees towards the sound. “Five minutes of peace! That’s all I ask for!”

Hardly anyone ventured into the Deadheads except the Runners. It was taboo for many of the boys due to the placement of the graveyard, making everyone steer clear of the small, strangely hilly forest. Normally, Lesley would have enjoyed the companionship, would have allowed the sounds of the wind through the trees and the thump of her boots in the dirt to calm her.

Today was not one of those days.

“Who’s there?” she growled, the stress she was suffering making her far more irritable than usual. She could already feel a painful headache starting to irk her temples. “You’d better -!”  


And then the muted words turned into a muffled, strangled scream for help, followed by a low, predatory growling sound that she had never heard in her life. It sent a wave of icy fear down her spine.

“Get the hell off me!” a voice cried, high-pitched and panicked.

Her muscles tensing, Lesley went rigid, staring into the forest in utter alarm. But only for a moment.

Feet digging into the soft ground, Lesley sprinted towards the sound as fast as she could, her anger immediately forgotten as a sickening sense of dread filled her. “What the _hell_ is going on today?” she gasped to herself, shoving tree branches out of the way in her haste, bushes getting kicked aside as she strayed from the usual paths.

The closer Lesley became, the more she could hear the sounds of a struggle. “You did this!” a horribly familiar voice roared. “I saw you!”

And it was coming from the direction of the graveyard.

The stunted cries of horror rapidly deteriorated into a wheezing, choked noise that was alarmingly growing quieter by the second.

“ _Shit_ ,” Lesley swore, the uncensored curse word bursting from her mouth as she ducked another low-hanging branch, her heart beating a frenzied rhythm within her ribcage. She felt the sharp, painful ache of a stitch forming in her side; she steadfastly ignored it.

Lesley crested the slope ahead of her with a mad haste, frantically scrambling to the top, and the sight that met her eyes on the other side made her lurch to a halt, words completely and utterly failing her.

In the shallow basin of the ground below, clawing around in the dirt barely feet from the grave markers, was Ben.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was straddling Thomas, whose legs were kicking wildly as the two of them struggled against one another in the dirt. Thomas’s face was an ugly shade of blue as he wheezed and stuttered, gasping for air; Ben’s filthy hands were wrapped painfully tight around his neck, squeezing for all it was worth.

“Ben!” Lesley gasped, shocked to her core.

His head snapped up to look at her ... but it was not the Ben she knew. He was deathly pale and sweating like mad, covered in dirt and scrapes and patches of blood. Worst of all was the wild, raging expression on his features, red eyes hardened and glinting with something feral, something hungry and frighteningly _livid_.

Lesley’s eyes widened in horror.

Using the distraction to his advantage, Thomas’s clawed at the dirt and grabbed the closest thing he could - an unearthed animal skull, Lesley realised with sickening clarity a moment later as Thomas smashed the cranium against the side of Ben’s head with such force that it shattered upon impact.

Roaring in pain, Ben sagged sideways. Roughly shoving him aside and scrambling clumsily to his feet, Thomas took off sprinting into the forest, bellowing hysterically for someone to come help **.**

Lesley skidded down the hillside towards the fallen Runner as he staggered upright, nothing short of murder in his eyes. She ran forward and grabbed Ben around the shoulders, nails digging into his shirt out of sheer desperation. “Ben! Ben, hey! What are you doing?!” she shouted at him.

It was as if he never heard her. Shoving his massive hands against her torso, he threw her off with a strength that frankly astonished Lesley after their weeks of wrestling together, tossing her roughly to the ground as he ran off after Thomas.

“HEY!” Thomas was shrieking, like a homing beacon that was sending Ben straight towards him. “Help! HELP!”

“Shuck it!” Lesley swore, clambering to her feet and taking off after the two boys, crashing through the broken path of tree branches that they had left in their wake. Her lungs heaved, terror threatening to overwhelm her.

She caught sight of them up ahead, Ben moving with the focus of a rabid predator as he snarled wildly. Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the sound, barely ten paces ahead, and a look of blind panic swept across his features.

“Go, Thomas!” Lesley cried shrilly. “GO!”

All three of them burst out of the Deadheads one after the other like they were playing a hysterical, deadly game of chase.

“Hey!” Thomas screamed, waving his arms frantically, trying to gain the attention of someone, _anyone_. “HEY!”

He looked over his shoulder every few seconds, eyes widening with panic as he realised just how fast Ben was gaining on him, the distance between them rapidly decreasing.

But Lesley was faster.

“Don’t you shucking dare!” Lesley screeched. Barely seconds later she slammed into Ben, tackling him downwards with the force of a loose cannon.

Unfortunately, it was at the same time that Ben made a grab for Thomas, seizing his lower legs. All three of them went crashing painfully to the ground, loose grass and dirt flying around them as they tumbled. Ben was still thrashing and snarling as he clawed at Thomas.

“Ben, stop!” Lesley screamed, her arms tight around his chest to hold him down; every single muscle in his torso was frighteningly taut. “STOP!”

“Get away from me!” Thomas yelled at Ben, sweat pouring down his pale face as he desperately wrenched himself along the ground away from him, clawing at the grass. “Gah - get away!”

Ben let out a roar of anger, and Lesley held him even tighter. Her arms were starting to shake violently under the strain; her hold was growing weaker by the second. “THOMAS, GO!” she shrieked.

Gasping, Thomas scrambled away as fast as he could, kicking his ankles free of Ben’s grip; Gladers were rushing towards them from all directions now, shouting, yelling, the ground thundering beneath their feet.

Snarling, Ben shoved Lesley’s arms aside with a strength that seemed utterly inhuman. His limbs swung wildly, the movements jerky and uncoordinated, and a choked cry of pain burst from Lesley’s throat as Ben’s knee came up and collided hard with her stomach, leaving her gasping for air.

His bloodshot eyes focused on Thomas’s rapidly retreating figure, Ben hurriedly staggered to his feet again, when -

“HEY!” Newt roared, smashing his shovel against the Runner’s head with a deafening clang.

He went down like a sack of potatoes, collapsing heavily to the ground.

“Hold him down!” Newt commanded forcefully, crashing to his knees as Frypan, Gally and Zart rushed forward, clamping down on Ben’s flailing limbs to hold him still as he thrashed about on the ground, snarling furiously.

Finally able to breathe again, Lesley stumbled towards them, collapsing down beside Newt and clamping her hands down on Ben’s torso to help restrain him. She winced at the ache across her abdomen, a ragged cough bursting from her mouth.

Newt stared at Ben incredulously. “What are you _doing_?” he exclaimed.

“Calm down, Ben!” Gally growled.

“What the hell happened?” Frypan shouted.

Thomas staggered over to the group, still panting raggedly. “He just attacked me!” he choked out.

“You okay?” Chuck asked, visibly worried. Thomas only nodded in response, still panting heavily as he stared down at Ben, his eyes wide.

“Calm down, Ben,” Gally said again, his tone softer this time. “Come on, it’s alright, you’re alright.”

Finally, the Runner let out a quiet, pained grunt and sank back against the grass, his face clammy and streaked with blood from the impact with the shovel, his breathing ragged. His clothing was drenched with sweat, and his matted hair was a noticeably darker shade. His eyelids fluttered.

Newt glanced at the girl crouched beside him and saw how much she was shaking. “You alright, Les?” he asked quietly.

Biting her lip, she didn’t respond, but it was answer enough for Newt.

Alby pushed his way through the crowd of whispering and not altogether panicking Gladers, his wary gaze focused on the manic Runner pinned to the ground. He stood over Ben, his hard expression turning to dawning realisation as he stared at the dark circle of blood on the boy’s abdomen.

Ben started to struggle again, his eyes dark. “No, no!” he cried. “No, I didn’t -!”

“Alright, lift his shirt!” Alby ordered. “Lift his shirt!”

“No! No!” Ben shouted. “No, please!”

Newt grabbed the hem of Ben’s tunic and ripped it up. Everyone visibly recoiled at the sight that met their eyes, many of the Gladers tumbling backwards with gasps and exclamations of horror.

There was a vicious, bleeding puncture wound on Ben’s stomach, and branching out from it was a dark spiderweb of black and blue veins, creeping across his deathly pale skin, poison pulsing beneath.

“Help me, please,” Ben whimpered, tears pouring down his cheeks. “Please. Please, just help ...”

“He’s been Stung,” Gally announced shakily, his jaw slack even as his eyes tightened with worry. “In the middle of the day?”

“ _Stung_?” someone repeated.

“I thought them Grievers only showed their shuck asses at night!” another Glader called, the fear in his voice unmistakeable.

Newt and Lesley shared a long, meaningful glance. Finally, the latter glanced up at Alby, who nodded firmly. “Put him in the pit,” the leader ordered.

The Keepers jumped into action. “Come on!” Gally called. “Everybody, help! Take him to the pit! Someone go open the Slammer!”

“No!” Ben yelled, starting to thrash around again. “No -!”

“Med-jack!” Newt roared, struggling to hold the boy down. He turned to Lesley. “You go to those Doors and _you wait there for Minho_. You understand me?”

Lesley nodded feverishly, more than eager to leave the situation, and stumbled to her feet on shaking legs. Her eyes watered painfully, causing her to blindly shove her way through the crowd of boys as she ran for the Maze entrance.

“Please, don’t do it!” Ben screamed.

“Calm down, Ben!” Gally told him through gritted teeth. “Back _down_!”

“Listen to me, please!” the boy screeched hysterically as he was roughly lifted up by the other Keepers. “Please, stop, please! He did this! Help me!”

They began to head towards the Slammer. The whole time, Ben’s wails of agony pierced Lesley’s heart like a knife, the first tears falling down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, what a good scene. Newt and Lesley having a little chat (I love their friendship asfjkfdg), Lesley getting pissed at anything and everything because she's so stressed out, and the icing on the cake, Ben has been Stung.
> 
> The confrontation in the Deadheads and out in the Glade was so SO much fun to write! A little fighting, rough and tumble and everything going crazy. (Also, Dylan O'Brien's facial expressions in this scene are priceless, I can't) I was listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack as I went which made it pretty epic haha. Was literally feeling the adrenaline as I wrote it.
> 
> Also, I'm celebrating 60 pages of uploaded content!! I'm super proud!
> 
> Thanks for all the incoming kudos, I really appreciate the love and it makes me so happy. Please continue to comment on what you enjoyed etc, see you all soon! xx


	16. Humble Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alby gives a history lesson, Lesley gains a new perspective, and a bond strengthens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onwards as the hectic day in the Glade continues!! Will leave the rest of my notes until the end, I have a lot to say on it. In the meantime, enjoy!

Alby came and joined Lesley soon afterwards, his approach cautious. He didn’t speak for a long time, simply sitting on the soft grass beside her.

“What the hell happened to him?” Lesley whispered. “He was going _nuts_ at Thomas; spouting all this klunk about _seeing him_. He was out of his mind; didn’t seem to recognise me either.”

Alby sighed. “It’s called the Changing. It’s what happens when someone gets Stung.” He sat forward and rubbed his hands together. “We haven’t been able to get a clear word out of Ben,” he told her. “He’s not making any more sense than he did to you, and it’s only gonna get worse. The infection is spreading; he’s dangerous.”

“And there’s no cure?” Lesley asked.

Alby shook his head. “We’ve only had a few cases. Some shanks pull through just fine but lose their minds in the process. Others ... start turning rabid; violent.”

Lesley was suddenly thrown back to a day not so long before, when she’d been sitting in the middle of the Deadheads, staring at a row of small wooden crosses. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, twisting the material between her fingers. “After our big fight - when I first became a Runner - I - I found the graveyard.”

She paused, glancing nervously at Alby and waiting for him to shut her down, but he simply nodded for her to continue. The expectant look on his face made her wonder if he knew exactly what she was about to ask him.

Lesley took a deep breath. “Newt said that - that there was a kid. George, I think? That he got Stung. That the same thing happened to him.”

Unbeknownst to Newt, his words had stayed in her mind for weeks, turning over in her head, of the fate she could have suffered, haunting her waking moments.

Alby was quiet for a few minutes. “Lesley, did you ever hear about when I came up in the Box?”

Lesley was staggered. Her jaw went slack, and she blinked stupidly at the other boy for a moment. “N-No,” she finally garbled. “It was only yours to tell. I never asked, because I - because we - you -”

“You didn’t know if I trusted you enough,” Alby finished simply. His voice was painfully soft, something that surprised Lesley.

She licked her lips anxiously. “Well ... yeah.”

Her words were weaker than she had intended, barely audible and already crumbling with insecurity. She felt like she had given him permission to stomp on her carefully guarded emotions,to crash through her inner walls and ruin the confidence she had steadily built up over her months in the Glade. It was that fear of rejection that had been instilled in her the moment she had woken up in the Box with no memories; that knowledge that someone, somewhere in that past she couldn’t remember, had discarded her at some point in her life for her to have ended up in the Maze. Alby’s reluctance to accept her as one of their own during her second and third weeks had hurt more than she had thought possible, and now her feelings were rising to the surface, unbidden -

“My First Day was very different from yours,” Alby began, and Lesley started at the unexpected words **.** “And that’s saying something, considering you were the first girl.” There was the hint of a smile on his face for a brief moment. “I was the start of it all. For me, the Box opened up into an empty field.”

Lesley gaped at him. “You were _the_ first?”

Alby nodded again. “No one was there to greet me, or pull me up, or call me a shank or a newbie. It was just me. Me and no memories.”

Lesley stared at the grass, trying to contemplate what that must have been like. She thought she’d had it rough, and yet she’d been surrounded by boys who had proven time and time again that they were willing to help her if she asked.

Alby ... hadn’t had _anybody_.

“It was a long, hard month,” Alby told her. “Of course, I didn’t know it was just gonna be a month at the time, but the days dragged on. I sulked for half the first week; cursed every living thing in existence.” He shrugged. “Then I put myself to work. Started building a small shelter - that’s now the inner ring of the Homestead,” he added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the structure behind them. “Also found a bunch of seeds in the supplies they sent up with me, so I started growing a vegetable patch.”

Shifting herself on the ground, Lesley couldn’t help her gaze sweeping across the Glade, seeing their facilities in a different, more appreciative light; they had been built out of a combination of sheer desperation, necessity and boredom, and by Alby’s own worn, calloused hands.

“After about a week, the stone doors opened. Didn’t know what to think of it at first. Took another week for me to start exploring, and only a couple of hours to realise that we were at the centre of an entire maze.”

Distantly, Ben’s wailing could still be heard from the Slammer. Lesley tried desperately to block it out.

Alby barely even winced at the faint noise. “One day, the alarms blared. Scared the klunk out of me. I thought it was something to do with the Maze, but then I heard the same noises that had been everywhere when I’d come up in the Box.”

“Metal screeching and clanking?” Lesley interjected.

“Exactly. Went to take a look, lifted the grate up ... and there was George.”

There was an undeniable fondness to his eyes.

“We hit it off instantly,” Alby smiled. “After a month of talking to myself, it was good to have another shank to laugh with, to share dinner with. I nicknamed him Greenie, just to tease him. We wrestled, talked for hours, made up stories since we didn’t have any to call our own. We were happy.”

Alby’s expression abruptly darkened. “And then it all changed.”

Lesley waited, questions itching the tip of her tongue, but Alby had such a faraway look in his eyes that she doubted he would hear her anyway.

“I told him about the Maze, and he became ... _obsessed_ with it.” Alby shook his head. “I don’t know how else to put it. “We ran it for a few hours every day, but he always insisted on staying out longer. It became worse when the walls started changing.”

Lesley blinked, her jaw dropping open. “They didn’t always move?”

“No,” Alby told her. “They began shifting the same night our third kid, Alfred, came up in the Box.”

Lesley shivered; Alfred was another name that had been crossed jaggedly off the wall.

“One day, we split up. George wanted to run the Maze by himself, insisting that he’d be able to find something that I hadn’t. I was annoyed, but I let him. He came back just before sunset, pale and sweating.”

“Oh, no,” Lesley whispered.

Alby nodded. “I thought he’d overexerted himself, told him to have some food and a rest, as anyone would. Then he attacked me in my sleep a few hours later.”

Lesley could barely conceal the rigid horror she felt.

“Alfie pulled him off me, and when he wouldn’t back down, we tied him up.” Alby’s gaze was distant again. “We lit a fire nearby, hoping to boil some rags, thinking he just had a fever. But no. He was covered in these thick, _dark_ veins.”

“Just like Ben,” Lesley whimpered.

“They were all over his face,” Alby told her. “His eyes were bloodshot and he was coughing up some nasty black klunk. He was screaming, saying it was all my fault, that we were in the Maze because I had something to do with it, since I was chosen first. Said I was keeping secrets from him.”

Lesley grabbed Alby’s arm. “But you weren’t!” she hissed firmly. “You were as clueless as he was about the whole thing!”

Alby gave her a tight smile. “It’s hard to remember that when your best friend is screaming at you.”

Those words hurt almost more than anything else Alby had uttered so far. Her chest tightening, Lesley waited for him to continue, but she didn’t relinquish her hold.

“He quietened down during the day,” Alby said, “but his condition grew worse, no matter how much we tried to help him. It was worse than a fever; it was like he was losing his mind right before us. Shuck, even his _eyes_ started turning black. The slightest word to him made him fly off the handle, and he broke free of the ropes more than once, hell bent on killing us. He was becoming dangerous. _Too_ dangerous.”

Alby’s breathing was getting faster; Lesley was scared he was on the verge of a panic attack, and she gripped his arm tighter. She could already see what was coming, and she dreaded to hear his next words.

“We made a decision,” Alby said, his voice suddenly void of emotion, as if he had trained himself to speak the words without reaction. “That night I ... I killed him. Stabbed a spear right through his chest.”

Lesley’s eyes watered with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out. Pain was etched into Alby’s features; she hadn’t realised just how many horrors Alby had suffered during all his years in the Glade.

Alby’s next exhale rattled through his torso. “It didn’t get better. We buried him, and a few weeks later, Alfie turned hysterical. Decided he’d rather try his luck getting out of the Maze; said we hadn’t tried hard enough. He ran out one night and never came back; the Doors closed on him, and he wasn’t the only one, by far.”

“Oh, my god,” Lesley murmured, heartbroken. “Alby, how the hell are you okay after all this? Why didn’t you just give up?”

Half the reason she loved the Glade so much - entrapment in a giant labyrinth aside - was the friends she had made, all the boys that gave her a reason to wake up every morning and run the ivy stone corridors; a laugh, a smile, a drink to share and a warm dinner to come back to.

Alby shrugged. “I closed myself off to the pain. I had to. More boys were arriving in the Glade - I’d figured out it was a pattern by then - and they needed my help. They didn’t know klunk about where they were and why they were here. Newt, Gally, Minho, Frypan, Winston - all those shanks were up here within a year. None of them lost their heads; we made up some rules, and the Glade’s been that way ever since.”

Lesley swallowed thickly as she picked at another strand of grass. “You wouldn’t think that this place had such a rough start,” she began softly, her voice cautious. “I mean, look at it; it’s a _home_.”

Alby nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I learnt over the months that at least we have each other, that we’re all in this together. We need to count on one another to stay safe in this place.”

Both of them fell quiet again. Beneath the serenity and order of the Glade was a level of horror that Lesley had had no comprehension of. It was the same nightmares that her Griever encounter had been made of, a dark history that lurked within and beyond the walls of their sanctuary.

“Only four people - including you - have ever heard that story,” Alby said softly.

Lesley’s breath caught in her throat, a wave of crushing emotion sweeping through her at the acknowledgement that their leader did actually trust her, despite the disagreements they’d had and the rocky start they had suffered. They were both too stubborn for their own good, apparently. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Another faint, tortured scream from Ben unpleasantly jerked Lesley back to the present, the quiet moment abruptly ruined.

Alby cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Lesley, evidently of the same mind. “Did you see anything unusual in the Maze today?” he asked.

Lesley firmly shook her head. “No,” she told him. She winced. “Heard a scream, though. I told Newt about it after Minho brought me back here.”

“Okay.” Alby got to his feet ... but not before he briefly stooped down to squeeze Lesley’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Let me know as soon as Minho gets back.”

Lesley bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze suddenly turning uncertain as she peered up at him over her shoulder. “Alby, what’s going to happen to Ben? What if - what if he pulls through? You said it can happen, right?”

Alby swallowed thickly, and Lesley suddenly knew the answer, dread pooling in her gut. “There’s nothing more we can do for him,” the leader told her quietly. “Even if we can’t save him, we can at least protect the other Gladers.”

With that, he turned and walked off, his posture tight as he moved in the direction of the Homestead without a backward glance.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

It seemed like an eternity later that Minho turned up at the Doors, his familiar figure jogging down the final corridor to the Glade as the sun was making its steady descent.

It was as if all the panic and horror and stress that had accumulated during the day had built up inside Lesley, and seeing Minho was like the dam bursting; she found herself suddenly choking back another onslaught of tears as she staggered to her feet, helplessly shaking with emotion.

His eyes widening, Minho picked up his pace, rushing forward until he was standing right in front of her, his chest heaving and beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. A look of panic began to settle on his features as he gripped Lesley’s shoulders. “Les, what happened?” he asked, panting heavily. “I couldn’t find anything out there -”

“Ben - it’s Ben,” she gasped, desperate to start the explanation somewhere and barely aware that she was interrupting him. “They locked him in the Slammer.”

Minho’s brow furrowed, confusion overtaking his features. “What the shuck did he do? Did he come back early?”

Lesley shook her head frantically. “He - he -”

Minho clamped his hands on either side of her head, forcing her to look at him and staring into her eyes. “Deep breaths, shank. Come on. What. Happened.”

“He’s been Stung, Min,” Lesley finally choked out.

Minho froze. “During the day?” he asked weakly. Images of Lesley trapped and backed up against a wall by a Griever flashed in front of his mind’s eye.

Lesley nodded. “And that’s not the worst part,” she sobbed. “He went crazy and tried to kill Thomas. He’s being Banished at sundown.”

_“Your funeral,” Minho retorted. “Curly is the only one keeping your shuck ass out of trouble!”_

The Keeper’s earlier words went around Lesley’s head like a mad carousel, torturing her, her heart clenching with a wretched guilt that suddenly seemed to eclipse all other emotion. If only they hadn’t all split up. If only. If _only_.

Minho choked on whatever words he had been about to say. He grabbed her hand painfully tight, and as the two of them rushed off towards the Homestead to find Newt and Alby, the booming drums began to sound across the Glade, a death knell that sounded too much like a pounding heart, desperately begging to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was completely unexpected, and not in the original plan. However, I sat down one afternoon, and an hour of intense writing inspiration later I had already gotten over 1500 words in! It just needed a little polishing afterwards with added context.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed my take on Alby's origins in the Glade! I really enjoyed the chance to write about a simpler time with the first couple of boys, when Alby let himself have fun with his new friends and didn't have the weight of an entire community's survival resting on his shoulders. Also the start of Maze exploration! I was reading the prequel comics last year and Alby's story really struck me, how he talked about George, and somehow this piece sprung into existence a good 8 months later.  
> This is also going more in depth about what Alby was telling Lesley on her second day when she was about to carve her name into the wall, about how the Gladers have risen above their struggles and gotten through the hardships together. She's finally starting to understand exactly what his words mean now.  
> I really love how these two are steadily growing closer; they've gotten past their differences now.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment and kudos, I really appreciate the feedback! :) xx


	17. One Last Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gladers lose one of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know what's next. (There is a character death in this chapter, heads up. If you're not good with this kind of stuff, please feel free to miss this one, I completely understand.)

The Gladers gathered at the base of the Doors. Most had spears gripped tightly in their hands; the Keepers had an extra horizontal branch attached to the top of their own wooden poles.

It was the duty of every single one of them, barring only few cases. Chuck was exempt because of his age in comparison to the others. Thomas was not called to participate either; he was still a Greenie, at barely two Glade days old, and the unexpected and frankly shocking hostility towards him from Ben resulted in Newt carefully ordering Thomas to steer clear.

They were not about to make Ben’s final moments even more torturous than they already would be.

Lesley’s fingers rapped anxiously against the rough wood of her stick, eyes fixed on the two figures approaching from the direction of the Slammer. She was filled with a sickening sense of apprehension.

“Just listen to me,” Ben grunted through clenched teeth, his pleading growing louder with every passing second. “Just, please, listen to me! Please, Minho!”

His hands were tied up behind his head with a thick strand of rope. Minho had a tight grip on his wrists as he drove him forwards; being the Keeper of the Runners, the role had been automatically designated to him.

Ben growled lowly, the sound tearing from his throat like a wild animal. “Alby!” he begged as he was shoved past.

Alby’s expression remained impassive, his eyes hardening as both he and Newt stepped forward, closing the gap in the semicircle of Gladers.

It was a silent order; with trembling hands, Lesley jerkily lowered the sharp end of her spear so it was pointing directly at Ben. All around her the other Gladers, bar the Keepers, were copying her movements. No one spoke, but the sheer agony in everyone’s eyes was unmistakable.

Minho threw Ben to the ground in the middle of the group, pain etched into every hardened line of his features. Tugging his blade from his belt, Minho sliced Ben’s bonds in one swift movement.

His hands falling free, Ben folded, sobbing wretchedly where he sat hunched over on the ground. His hysterical gasping turned to a nauseating retching sound; black liquid dribbled to the dirt from his lips like liquid tar, directly before a ragged cough expelled a clear lump of blood from his throat.

Lesley fought the urge to rush over and help him, her legs trembling where she stood like she was fighting her own body. She was frightened by how quickly Ben’s condition had deteriorated within the space of a single afternoon.

_Maybe Alby was right; this is truly for the best._

Minho glanced down at the small sack he held in his hands. Newt had told Lesley that it was a staple of all Banishings; it was a survival kit containing minimal food and water for the exiled Glader. One last mercy they were granted.

Ben stared at it with understanding in his eyes. “No, please, Minho,” he moaned, the sound unbearably pitiful. “Please, don’t. Please don’t do it.”

Minho glanced up and met Alby’s gaze; the leader nodded firmly.

His arm muscles tensing, the Keeper threw the kit across the Maze threshold, the package rolling to a stop just past the width of the Doors. Ben’s bloodshot eyes tracked the movement with an expression of unconcealed terror.

The ominous sound of gears turning echoed all around them, clanking and groaning, and Lesley’s heart plummeted to the depths of her stomach, her lower lip beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

An unnatural breeze swept down the final corridor of the Maze, swirling around the Gladers and rippling through their clothes and hair. Lesley squinted her eyes against the eerie gust, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

Seconds later, the wind abruptly died. There was a thunderous roaring noise in its place, and Lesley’s gaze was torn skywards as the ground rattled beneath her feet.

The Doors were starting to close.

“Poles!” Alby ordered.

As one, the Keepers - Zart, Frypan, Newt, Gally, Winston, and Alby himself - lowered their own wooden rods, the horizontal bars on their modified ones creating a wall.

Ben, who had spun around at Alby’s harsh command, scrambled to his feet, sheer panic overwhelming his features, his tears leaving tracks down his filthy face. In his sodden, dirty singlet, his body streaked with blood and spiderwebs of dark veins, he looked utterly frightful.

Ben stared around at all of them, entirely surrounded. “Please, please,” he begged, trying to meet the eyes of the Gladers he had called friends.

But whenever he swayed too close to any one of them, they stabbed back with their spears, driving him back. It tore at Lesley’s heart, but she gripped her spear tighter.

_“Even if we can’t save him, we can at least protect the other Gladers.”_

“Move in!” Alby commanded.

Their faces a mask of stony expressions, the six Keepers surged forward, forcing Ben backwards towards the Maze.

“No, no, no! Please!” Ben wailed. “Newt! Newt, please - Chad - Chad, I beg you - Les, help me, Lesley!”

It was all Lesley could do not to collapse where she stood, tears pouring down her face even as she held her ground.

_“We can at least protect the other Gladers.”_

The Keeper’s sticks were shoving forcefully at Ben’s chest now as he stalled, bargaining for time as the space between the Doors became narrower and narrower.

“No, please! Please don’t!” Ben screamed, his vocal chords shredding. “I can get better! I can - please, just listen to me!”

“Push him in!” Alby yelled.

The Keepers harshly jabbed at him; Ben stumbled across the threshold on unsteady feet, and he barely caught himself. The gap was shrinking by the second.

“I’ll get better!” Ben roared desperately, one final plea for salvation.

The Doors had closed enough that the other Gladers were able to step back, spears lifting into the air even as the Keepers continued to push at Ben, grunting, teeth gritted. The crevice became so narrow that only Alby, Newt and Gally could fit.

Finally, Ben gave up, a pained acceptance in his eyes as he surrendered himself to his fate. He staggered backwards, hands pushing blindly against the walls until he made it past the twenty feet of solid rock that made up the width of the Doors. 

He was well and truly in the Maze now.

The final three Keepers lifted their poles clear. Her own stick still pointed skywards, clutched tightly in her shaking, sweaty hands, Lesley hurriedly pushed through the group, shoving past the other frozen Gladers until she was aligned with the slim gap left between the Doors.

Lesley saw Ben’s tortured face one last time, twisted in agony as sobs wracked his body, and her heart wrenched. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

And then the Doors slammed shut with a harrowing sense of finality.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet before all grew still. The air was utterly silent, many of the Gladers closing their eyes and looking down at the ground in a moment of respect for their friend, all of them remembering. Lesley leaned heavily on the wooden spear in her hands for support, exhaling a shaky breath.

She knew that final, agonising image of Ben would haunt her nightmares for a long time to come, obscuring the memory of every smile and laugh she had ever seen or heard from him.

Banishings were a stark reminder of just how cruel the world they lived in was and the decisions they had to make to ensure that as many people survived as possible. It threw a shocking light on how the Gladers gathered around her - most of them in their late teens - accepted death so easily; it was just the way life was for them.

Alby slowly turned away from the closed Doors. His gaze drifted over the crowd of mute Gladers, his eyes heavy with sorrow and understanding of their pain. “He belongs to the Maze now,” he said quietly.

With that, he walked off towards the Homestead, swallowing hard and his eyes glistening noticeably. Slowly, the other Gladers began to follow him. Newt, Frypan, Gally, Winston; each heading in their own separate directions, to be alone, to mourn the Glader they had lost.

_The friend they had forced from their own home because they deemed their own survival more important,_ Lesley thought with a violent shudder, guilt clawing at her as she finally gave in to her emotions, a sob bursting from her throat.

Scrubbing his clenched fists against his eyes, Chad stalked past her, heading towards the Deadheads. His shoulders were shaking viciously.

Minho hadn’t moved from his place beside the wall. Tremors rocking her body, Lesley cautiously stepped closer to him, placing her hand on the cold stone beside his, her thumb brushing his.

The bond that Runners shared ran deep, binding them closer than many of the other Gladers simply because of the sheer risk their job entailed. Lesley stared up at the wall, eyes blurring with tears, thinking of the times they had shared with Ben, the moments of laughter and companionship. Even just that _morning_.

Minho had his eyes closed, his expression pained as he stood there silently beside her. Lesley didn’t doubt that he also felt the physical ache of loss that suddenly weighed heavily in her heart, tearing her apart from the inside out.

Exhaling shakily, Lesley shifted her other hand and placed it carefully on Minho’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry, Min,” she whispered, her words barely audible.

Minho nodded, finally opening his eyes; they were glassy with tears. “He was a good Runner,” he told her softly, a broken edge to his voice. “A good friend.”

Lesley swallowed hard. “I know.” She gave him a small, unbearably sad smile. “I know.”

She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were hugging, Minho crushing her against him in an embrace so tight it was like he was trying to hold the both of them together. Lesley hugged him back just as fiercely as she sobbed relentlessly into his shoulder, powerless to stifle her cries of grief.

“I’m gonna miss him, Min,” she choked out.

“Me too, Les.” Minho’s voice was strained; Lesley could feel the dampness from his own eyes seeping into her shirt as he pulled her impossibly closer. “Me, too.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

They left their posts resting against the Doors that night as a mark of respect.

Dinner was an abnormally quiet affair, with very little chatter, and everyone packed up and went to bed far earlier than usual.

However, Lesley noticed a distinct lack of snoring from the other boys as she shifted in her hammock, tugging the blankets up to her chin.

_Clink. Clink-clink. Clink._

Lesley sniffled quietly at the noise, watching the flickering torch lights on the far side of the Glade, a tiny glow in the darkness. Gally and Winston were there, painfully crossing Ben’s name off the Glader wall; the chink of metal against stone was audible in the still air, even from a distance.

“Do you think he might make it?”

At the sound of Thomas’s voice, Lesley glanced at the hammock beside her. The boy was sitting there in a singlet instead of his usual blue over-shirt, staring at the distant flames with glistening eyes.

“Ben?” Chuck piped up. Lesley hadn’t realised he was still awake. “No.”

“No one survives a night in the Maze,” Lesley said quietly.

Chuck nodded, swallowing audibly. “We just gotta forget about him,” he said. With that, he rolled over in his hammock and curled up under his blanket.

The sudden roar of a Griever cut through the night air like a knife, sending a sharp jolt of fear down Lesley’s spine and a fresh stab of pain through her heart. As images tore through her mind, she silently and desperately begged that Ben’s demise had, at least, been merciful.

The sky had been scattered with stars on her way to bed that night; a part of her couldn’t help wondering if - wishing that - one of them was him. That he was up in the heavens and no longer suffering, that he was at peace with the other Glader boys that had been lost over the years.

Stamping down on her own emotions best she could as a sob threatened to tear from her throat, Lesley glanced at Thomas and saw the unease flickering in his eyes. “Get some sleep,” she told him, her voice strained. “We can’t do anything for him now.”

Wishing the words were anything but true, Lesley turned on her side and closed her eyes, tears falling down her cheeks as her mind was consumed by thoughts of the Runner who had been such a dear friend to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really dreaded doing this scene, and even then it was harder to write than I ever imagined. I was on the verge of crying the whole time writing it (and had to listen to copious amounts of High School Musical while I was editing to make myself feel better. We're all in this together, guys). I've really grown to love him throughout the extra scenes I've written with him, and in a lot of ways I'm really grateful because now I feel genuinely sad about him.
> 
> That's all I'm gonna say. See you all next update xx


	18. Parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day rises, Minho gives a pep talk, and Alby gets into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Been so excited to post this. Enjoy the new chapter :)

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with a glorious pink sunrise rippling across the sky. Droplets of dew clung to the blades of grass in the early light, and the air was peaceful and still.

There was no evidence to suggest the horrors they had witnessed the previous evening. Newt had removed the sticks at daybreak - before even the Runners had risen - and Ben’s name was just another that had been crossed off the wall. The only thing that remained was the lingering images in the Gladers’ minds.

It filled Lesley with a determination, the likes of which she hadn’t felt since her Griever encounter. They had to figure out what was going on, figure out how and why Ben had been attacked during the daytime, and - even better - hopefully find a clue that would help solve the Maze.

The Griever sightings had all started with Lesley’s arrival in the Glade, and had been repeated after Thomas’s debut. Perhaps ... perhaps it was all part of puzzle, that it meant _something_.

Alby was evidently of the same mind as he met them for breakfast that morning; from the shadows under his eyes, it was clear that he had been up most of the night. “I’m gonna be joining the lot of you today,” he announced.

Minho swallowed his mouthful of bacon. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Alby grabbed a bowl of porridge from Frypan. “Thanks, man.” He cleared his throat. “I want you guys to follow the usual routine while I retrace Ben’s steps from yesterday; see if I can find anything.”

“Alright, but we’ll start from where we left off, right by Ben’s last position,” Minho told him.

Alby nodded. “Deal. I don’t want to be back any later than mid-afternoon, though. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Minho replied.

Lesley nodded in response, glancing worriedly in the direction of the Deadheads. After grabbing his breakfast, Chad had told everyone he would see them at dinner before heading into the forest, clearly intending to hole himself up in Map Room. Alby let him; he clearly needed the day to recover from the loss of his partner.

It was a clear exception to the Glade’s ‘no slacking’ rule; as Newt had told Lesley at one point, their mental health was just as important as their physical health. The other two Runners were nowhere to be seen, either.

As the three of them waited outside the Doors with Newt a short while later, bouncing on the balls of their feet and stretching their muscles in preparation for the day, Lesley stared up at the gargantuan blocks of stone apprehensively, unable to stop an icy shiver rattling down her spine.

She was frightened by the idea of what lay waiting in the passage beyond. Would there be a body? Would she see the shredded remains of their friend?

The very thought made her feel nauseous.

With a booming noise not unlike thunder, the Doors began to slide open, the clanking of gears adding to the tumult. Lesley curled her sweating hands into fists to quell the tremors as she watched the gap slowly widen; she felt Minho tense beside her.

The corridor was deserted.

There wasn’t a trace of the boy they had known, and somehow, that alone was almost eerier than if there had been something, some scrap of his existence. It was as if Ben had been wiped off the face of the earth.

“Alright, let’s move out,” Alby said, shattering the quiet.

Lesley exhaled the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding, the tension draining from her body just a little.

“Take care, alright?” Newt told them.

Minho nodded. “It’s a few miles out, but we’ll get there as fast as we can. Gives us a bit more time to look around.”

“We’ll be back by lunchtime,” Lesley promised, pulling Newt into a hug and squeezing him tight against her for a brief few seconds; he gave the end of her braid a playful tug.

“Back by lunchtime,” Newt repeated with a small smile.

Minho bumped his fist against Newt’s, and a moment later the three of them were sprinting off into the Maze, the dark ivy passages swallowing them up as they turned a corner and disappeared.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Within a matter of hours, the weather began to turn drastically, which suited Lesley’s mood just fine.

They had parted ways with Alby at least an hour before. While Alby had taken to looking specifically for Ben’s tracks, Lesley and Minho kept to the surrounding area, running the same paths they had been on the previous day before getting grievously sidetracked, searching for clues.

However, as much as she tried to focus, Lesley’s heart really wasn’t in the run that day - despite her earlier resolve - and she could tell that Minho was much the same.

The already grey sky rapidly began to darken, and soon enough the storm clouds were rolling in and rain began to pour from the heavens.

It didn’t rain very often, perhaps once a fortnight if they were lucky, so it was always something of an event when it _did_ happen. Squinting through the deluge, Lesley was grateful for how the water helped cool her down, but it didn’t take long for her to start shivering as the droplets seeped through her clothes, drenching her thoroughly. Gooseflesh scattered across her skin.

Slowing to a walk, Minho glanced up at the sky. “Alright, shank,” he said, grabbing an apple from his pack and taking a hefty bite. “I reckon we’ll start heading back. Might catch up with Alby on the way out, see if he got something.”

There was a streak of lightning over their heads, illuminating the black clouds.

Lesley shivered. “Good that.”

She was feeling more than a little disheartened; they hadn’t found _anything_. She had kept her eyes peeled for signs of Griever activity, for the defining marks in the stone that indicated a Griever presence - as they had discovered nearly two months previously during their chase of one - but it was difficult to concentrate when all she could see in her mind was that lasting image of Ben.

Minho passed the remaining half of his fruit to Lesley, who caught it nimbly. “Thanks,” she said with a tight smile, raising the apple to her mouth -

_Click. Click-click. Click-click-clack. Click._

Every cell in Lesley’s body screeched to a halt, the fruit falling to the ground from her suddenly numb fingers. Time seemed to move around her body, nonexistent.

Minho tutted. “Five second rule, shank,” he said, stooping down and picking up the apple before taking another bite. He paused, glancing up and catching sight of her frozen facial expression. “Les?”

Rigidly, Lesley fought to breathe, her face blanching of all colour before turning ashen. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. There couldn’t be another one -

_Click-clack. Click-click. CLACK._

“Shuck, Les!”

She came back to herself with a jolt to find Minho’s hands clamped down on either side of her arms, steadying her; she realised she was swaying dangerously where she stood. He was staring at her with frantic concern.

Minho gave her a small shake, drawing her attention once again. “Talk to me, shank!”

The rain continued to fall around them, but Lesley paid it no heed. It was as if she couldn’t feel the chill of the downpour now; a paralysing terror so much more sinister was freezing her insides.

“It’s _the_ noise, Minho,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s the same one I heard before I saw the Griever. It’s _here_.”

Horror swept across Minho’s features as a bolt of lightning struck the sky once again, illuminating his expression with alarming clarity.

“It’s not far away,” Lesley whimpered. “Oh, shuck - oh, shuck -”

Minho swallowed thickly. “We need to follow it,” he said carefully, not breaking eye contact with her. “But first, I need to know if you’re okay with that.”

Lesley was silent, still trembling violently.

“You’ve faced these Grievers once before,” Minho said, lowly and fiercely, “and lived to tell the shucking tale. You’re a _badass_ , Lesley. And you know what?” His voice grew stronger as he pointed down the corridor. “I say we walk right up to that thing’s jaws and show it exactly why you don’t mess with us Runners.”

Still staring at him with wide eyes, Lesley’s jaw fell open slightly, disbelief and hope slowly overwhelming the terror on her features. “Why they don’t mess with us,” she repeated weakly.

“Exactly!” Minho jabbed at her chest, right above her pounding heart as he pressed into her space. “And you tell it _why_ they don’t mess with you, because you - are - _Lesley_! You are our _first_ girl, who has proved she can do anything us shanks can, who’s strong and brave and shucking _determined_ to survive! And you will _walk up_ to that piece of klunk and _stab_ that shucking thing where the sun doesn’t shucking shine because _we_ own the Maze, not them! Are you hearing me?”

And then Lesley was nodding, the frantic jerk of her head increasing rapidly. She gritted her teeth. “Let’s go kill this shuck thing,” she growled.

“That’s what I’m talking about, shank!” Minho yelled enthusiastically, clapping her hard on the shoulders. “Come on!”

“YEAH!” Lesley roared.

She took the lead, renewed vigor in her bones. Lesley listened for the soft, unsettling sound of the Griever’s movements, and often took off down a passageway without any sort of warning, leaving it to Minho to catch up. The thud of Minho’s footsteps directly beside her own, his breathing in sync with hers, was immensely comforting. She wasn’t alone; she could do this.

The rain was still pouring down in torrents, making the chase that much more difficult as the clatter of water against stone muffled the clicking sounds, but a sudden thrill was racing through Lesley’s chest.

_CLACK. Click-clack._

They were excruciatingly close. 

Unlike last time, as Lesley gave chase to the nightmarish sound that had haunted her thoughts for weeks on end, she wasn’t incapacitated by a constant sense of building dread. Instead, a fierce resolve steeled every nerve in her body; her fingertips brushed the blade at her waist.

This time, she was prepared.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

At the first low roar of thunder, the ominous black clouds swiftly rolling in over their heads, the Gladers hurriedly finished up their work for the day and took shelter beneath the eaves of the Homestead, talking and playing games to pass the time whilst they waited for the torrents of rain to pass.

But there was an underlying tension to the laughter and conversations, gazes frequently flicking to the Maze entrance. Even Gally was watching the Doors, a troubled look on his features.

There had been no sign of the Runners so far.

Thomas leaned against one of the support posts, a thick column of wood that Lesley herself had helped put up. His fingers tapped an anxious beat on the hard surface, right above where her initial was carved beside Gally’s and Alec’s to spell G-A-L.

“They should be back by now,” he called over his shoulder to Newt. “What happens if they don’t make it back?”

The blond boy was leaning against another support beam, his eyes fixed determinedly on the Doors. “They’re gonna make it,” he said firmly.

Thomas pushed off the post and went over to Newt. “What happens if they don’t?” he repeated, his tone a touch more desperate.

The deep frown on his face betrayed nothing, but Thomas could see the unease in his dark eyes as Newt turned to look at him, his jaw tightening. “They’re gonna make it,” he repeated quietly, as if to convince himself more than anyone else.

Finally, Thomas turned away. Newt resumed staring at the Doors, but he couldn’t help the bubble of panic swelling in his chest. He struggled to clamp down on it. “Where the bloody hell are ya?” he muttered.

Frypan sidled up to him. “Hey, man, they’ll be alright,” he told Newt in an undertone. “Alby and Minho know the Maze better than anyone else, and Lesley’s got a good head on her shoulders.” He shrugged. “Maybe they found somethin’.”

“Maybe,” Newt responded tightly.

Les had said they’d be back by lunchtime. They had to be back soon. _They had to be._

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

_Click. Click-Clack. Click._

“This way. This way!” Lesley gasped; Minho followed her without hesitation. “Come on, it’s moving!”

But it was as if the two of them couldn’t move quickly enough. It was a fine and precarious line between running as fast as they could, and not slipping over on the dangerously wet stone beneath their boots.

_Left. Right. Right. Another left -_

Minho was barely able to stop himself from crashing headlong into Lesley as she skidded to an abrupt halt, staring down the passageway ahead.

“Oi, shank -” he began in an annoyed tone before his eyes caught what Lesley’s had through the haze of the rain.

The Griever was nowhere to be seen, but the corridor was far from deserted.

Alby sat curled up against the stone of the Maze. He was staring at a fixed point on the opposite wall with a glazed expression, limbs jerking spasmodically and his torso shaking violently.

“Al?” Minho called nervously.

It was as if Alby was suddenly hit by an electric shock; he jolted to his feet, staring at them with an unfocused gaze that was unnervingly wild, his eyes severely bloodshot. Even against his dark complexion, he was deathly pale. A red stain bloomed on his white shirt.

It was a horrifically familiar sight.

“Min,” she whispered fearfully.

Minho nodded tightly. “He’s been Stung,” he said in a hushed voice.

The word seemed to jerk their leader from whatever daze he was stuck in, a rush of words coming out of his mouth all at once.

“He - no, he shouldn't be here,” Alby garbled frantically, his arms jerking in a strangely uncoordinated fashion. “We can’t let him - see his face - can’t be, no -”

Minho’s expression was guarded. “Easy, Alby,” he said cautiously. His stance was low, his hands out in front of him to prove they weren’t a threat. “It’s just us. It’s Minho and Lesley, yeah?”

Lesley reached out. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she whispered, hoping desperately to soothe him. Her hand lightly touched his arm.

He jerked away as if he had been burned, reeling backwards with flaring nostrils. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he roared.

Minho hurriedly yanked Lesley behind him by the back of her shirt, his expression rapidly hardening.

“You with him?” Alby ran his hands over his face agonisingly. “No, it doesn’t match - what was he doing - that face - that _face_!”

“Dude, you’re not making any sense!” Minho shouted at him. “Shuck, how the _hell_ are we gonna get him back to the Glade like this?” he hissed to Lesley.

Lesley looked around frantically, but there was nothing they could use to their advantage; the walls were straight up and down. “We need to take him down somehow!”

“It can’t be - NO!” Alby roared.

“Just knock him out!” Lesley shouted.

Grimacing, Minho lunged, his clenched fist flying forward. However, Alby moved his head and the uppercut missed, Minho’s fist barely grazing his jaw and instead crashing into Alby’s cheek. Alby let out a roar of anger as he staggered backwards, clutching his lower face; it became clear that it hadn’t incapacitated him in the slightest.

“Any ideas?” Minho asked weakly, fists clenching in preparation for another blow. Lesley wasn’t sure if it was sweat or the rain flattening his hair against his forehead.

The gleam of metal caught Lesley’s eyes; they still had something they can use.

Her jaw clenching, she reached forward and yanked Minho’s knife from his belt in one swift movement. Thunder roared and lightning flashed over their heads, illuminating the silver metal of the blade like it was an otherworldly artifact.

“Sorry, Alby!” she yelled over his hysterical wailing, rushing towards him before he could dart away and promptly smashing the hilt of the blade against his temple.

“ _Shit_!” Minho swore, leaping backwards out of the way and skidding on the wet stone.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Alby collapsed heavily to the ground, unconscious.

Grabbing her arm, Minho whirled Lesley around to face him. “Bit of warning next time, yeah?” he said, panting heavily.

“Sorry,” Lesley gasped, holding out his blade hilt first.

Shaking his head, Minho sheathed the knife and clapped her on the shoulder. “Good job, though, shank. Who knew all you needed was a shucking good pep talk?”

Lesley cracked a grin, holding a hand over her brow to shield her face from the rain; finally, it had started to ease. “Thanks.”

The mirth fading from his features, Minho grimaced as he took in the sight of Alby’s prone form. “We’re gonna have to hurry. I don’t know how long it’ll take us to get to the Doors from here, and with his dead weight ... I think we’re gonna be pushing it.”

Lesley nodded. “Then let’s get going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red sky in the morning ... (anyone else use that saying about the weather?)
> 
> Poor Lesley. She was severely traumatised by that last Griever encounter, wasn't she? That pep talk is going to be something that Lesley can use to draw strength from in later scenes. I loved Minho reminding her exactly what she is capable of - something that I think we all need every now and then. Also I really loved writing the encounter with Alby, I could see the scene playing out like a film in my head with all the thunder and lightning! (Thor cameo, let's be real).  
> The pursue of the Griever is where the Parallel comes into play, seeing how much strength Minho has given her as they give chase to it, whereas last time she was by herself.
> 
> The scene under the Homestead was on the cutting board for pacing but then of course I had to stick in the line about their initials. It's not very funny but I can't stop laughing at the idea of these guys taking the piss and then scampering off into the Deadheads as soon as Mama Noot comes along swearing at them. Typical Glader humour.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this one! Let me know your thoughts. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! xx


	19. On Their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gladers wait, Lesley and Minho race against the sun's clock, and Thomas tries to be helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key word being TRY, Thomas.
> 
> Thank goodness I'm writing/editing several chapters ahead of the posted ones because this one slowed me for days!! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter! The action is really starting to amp up now.

The day was drawing to a close at a frighteningly rapid pace.

Their trek through the Maze was absolutely _agonising_. Alby was far heavier than he appeared, and his dead weight severely hindered their progress. They had made a significant detour in their chase of the Griever to the spot where they had discovered Alby, and had found themselves miles away from the Glade - a horror story for a role with such a specific and consequential time limit.

Even worse was the sun sinking towards the horizon faster than the steps they were taking; they could no longer see it over their heads, but Lesley felt like a vice was squeezing her chest tighter and tighter every time she glanced up and saw the shifting colours of the sky, a reminder of the steadily approaching sunset. Anxiety and terror gnawed away at her insides.

“Come on, shank,” Minho wheezed. “Keep going, keep going.”

His face was clouded with exhaustion. He was stronger than Lesley, and so had elected to support the majority of Alby’s weight for a good portion of the return journey, but after a whole day of running and being drenched in the rain - which had thankfully stopped after a while - he was clearly on his own final energy reserves.

“We gotta be nearly there by now,” Lesley wheezed desperately, unable to stop the prick of tears in her eyes as she hoisted Alby’s arm more firmly over her shoulders. Shuck, she was so, so tired. She was hungry, and every single muscle in her body ached. She just wanted to be home already.

_Come on. Keep going. One more footstep. Another step. Yes, surely she could smell Fry’s cooking by now ... the boys would be packing up for the day ... maybe she could wrestle with Gally after a good, strong drink? The Creators knew she needed it._

Distantly, there was the clanking of gears, loud and ominous. Lesley’s heart skipped a beat.

Minho’s eyes widened. “Come on!” he panted, tugging both Alby and Lesley forwards as he picked up his pace. Lesley fought desperately to keep up with him, barely stopping herself from tripping over her own leaden feet in the process.

A gust of wind hit them, and Lesley squinted her eyes as small bits of dirt and debris smacked against her face. She exhaled a puff of air out the corner of her mouth, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.

And then an overwhelming wave of terror hit her as she stared across at Minho with bulging eyes, realisation striking her as they lurched to a stop. “Was that -?” she choked out.

Looking just as scared, Minho nodded silently.

The thunderous sound of shifting stones reverberated all around them, a sound that she would recognise anywhere, a sound that she found comforting; the sound of _home_.

Now, it was a sound that filled her with absolute, paralysing terror.

“Oh, my god,” Lesley exclaimed, a panicked sob tearing from her throat as the ground rattled beneath their feet.

Minho gritted his teeth, strengthening his resolve. “Two corridors, let’s move it!” he growled.

Lesley ignored the stabs of pain that were surging through every part of her body.

_They had to get to the Doors._

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

The day was drawing to a close at an agonizingly slow pace.

The rain finally stopped and the sun came out again, determined to show itself one last time before it disappeared for the night. As the minutes until sunset ticked down, the Gladers found themselves gathered anxiously at the Doors.

Lesley, Minho and Alby had not returned.

Chad anxiously ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “That’s it,” he muttered. “I can’t stand it any longer -”

He went to take a step forward into the Maze when the ominous sound of clanking metal rattled through the air, a distant rumbling noise that foreshadowed events to come.

Newt grabbed his arm with a small shake of his head, giving him a nudge backwards; beside them, Chuck exhaled shakily.

Thomas looked around at the worried faces of the other Gladers as he moved to stand beside Newt. “Come on, guys,” he pleaded desperately. “Can’t we send someone after them?”

“That’s against the rules,” Gally spoke up from where he was kneeling on the ground. His voice had the slightest shake to it as he stared fixedly into the Maze. “Either they make it back or they don’t.”

Newt rubbed a hand up his arm, goosebumps on his skin despite the warm air. “We can’t risk losing anyone else,” he told Thomas quietly.

Chad was rigid where he stood, his expression tightly controlled, but he was unable to stop the shake in his hands.

An eerie wind rose up from within the Maze, swirling down the corridor towards them. Thomas, Gally, Chuck and many of the other Gladers raised their arms to protect their eyes, the breeze rippling through their clothes and hair. Seconds later, just as fast as it had appeared, the wind suddenly stopped.

And then the Doors began to move.

Chuck’s gaze darted across the closing walls, his eyes wide. “Oh, no,” he whimpered.

All of the boys began to murmur worriedly amongst themselves, panic rapidly rising. Gally hurriedly clambered to his feet, a look of dismay on his face that mirrored Newt’s own expression.

Squinting his eyes at the ivy passageways in front of them, Thomas’s heart skipped a beat as he saw a flash of movement. “There!” he exclaimed, pointing. Newt narrowed his eyes, searching, hardly daring to believe.

There was the sound of Minho grunting loudly, the noise echoing down the corridor, and the Runner suddenly limped into view, Alby at his side. Next to them, Lesley let out an agonised shriek of effort.

Newt started, his heart in his mouth as the spark of hope in his chest vanished. “Wait, no, something’s wrong!” he cried.

All of the Gladers stood there in silent horror as they realised that Minho and Lesley were dragging an unconscious and visibly injured Alby between them; the two Runners looked exhausted as they stumbled down the Maze corridor, sweat pouring down their faces and their clothing drenched through.

“Come on, Minho!” Chuck yelled. “You can do it, Les!”

As if his words had broken a spell, chaos suddenly erupted.

“COME ON!” the boys collectively shouted in varying states of panic, their voices rising up to become an indiscernible tidal wave of noise down the passageway towards the two Runners. “GO! GO!”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Lesley screamed, pain ripping through her body as every single muscle she had shrieked in avid protest, her legs cramping. She tightened her hold on Alby’s arm, the limb still slung heavily across her shoulders as she and Minho staggered blearily down the corridor, trying desperately not to crash into the walls in their exhaustion.

_Come on. One more footstep. One more one more one more -_

The mad carousel of words had been hounding her all afternoon, pushing her to absolute breaking point, wrangling every last shred of energy she had, to keep her going despite the sheer agony wracking her body.

Everything else was drowned out; everything was muffled except for her own gasping breaths and Minho’s grunts of exertion. It was all she could do to stifle the bile that her stomach was about to eject, all she could do to stay conscious as everything in her body threatened to shut down on her.

She didn’t even know if she had the physical strength to reach those Doors. 

_“Come on, Minho! You can do it, Les!”_

_“COME ON! GO! GO!”_

The cacophony hit Lesley like a freight train as if someone had suddenly turned up the volume, blasting her with an appalling level of noise that she couldn’t make any sense of, a wild roar that swept over them.

She glanced up between heavy pants of breath, barely able to see, and her entire being shuddered at the blurred sight of the entire community of Gladers waiting for them, her heart clenching torturously.

With a strained grunt of pain, Minho lost his footing.

“Minho!” Lesley screamed hoarsely as they collapsed heavily to the ground, Alby on top, his weight suddenly crushing them both.

“Come on, y’all can make it!” Frypan bellowed.

“Get out of there!” Gally roared.

Lesley gritted her teeth, forcing herself to roll sideways. “Minho, we - we gotta move!” she rasped. Her heart pounding, she desperately grabbed one of Alby’s arms, hauling the leader onto his back as Minho staggered upright. She coughed raggedly. “Shuck, just drag him!”

Her head spun - she could hardly _breathe_ -

“Save yourself, Les!” Minho gasped, gripping Alby’s other arm.

“Not without you!” Lesley bit out, grunting as the two of them desperately began to drag Alby towards the Doors.

The gap was shrinking by the second.

“LESLEY!” Gally yelled, cupping his mouth with his hands to make himself louder. “Minho, you gotta leave him!”

An anguished roar burst from Minho’s throat, his fingers locked in a white-knuckle hold around Alby’s bicep. Lesley threw a harried glance over her shoulder, loose bits of hair falling across her eyes, and saw the desperate, shocked expressions of the Gladers in a sudden moment of clarity through the haze of her vision.

It was all Lesley could do to drag her own body towards the Doors, never mind Alby’s; each step felt like ten, the corridor impossibly stretching ahead of them no matter how fast they moved, and the Doors were closing - _closing_ -

Minho growled. “You stay here - and you will _die_ , shank!”

Lesley shook her head jerkily, adjusting the clammy grip she had on Alby. “I’m not leaving you!” she snarled. “Two will have a better chance! We can -” She grunted, straining under Alby’s weight, “- we can - _help_ each other!”

Minho swore. “Didn’t you hear me, Les?!”

“I CAN’T SHUCKING BEAR TO LOSE YOU, IDIOT!” Lesley bellowed with the last bit of strength she had.

There was a low groan from the Doors as they shifted even closer.

Newt’s face had turned white. “They’re not gonna make it,” he uttered weakly. Terror clawed at his throat as his heart thrashed painfully in his chest. “Come on, come on,” he begged desperately under his breath, praying for some sort of miracle, but the Doors were sliding shut faster than Minho and Lesley were moving.

It was like a fog swept across Lesley’s vision. She could barely see through the torrent of sweat pouring into her eyes, and her lungs were caving, her legs violently shaking -

The exhaustion hit her like a crushing wave the same time as Minho. Without warning, the two Runners collapsed and Alby hit the ground between them. Lesley barely felt the impact with the ground, spiraling away on the vestiges of consciousness.

His head bowed, Chad turned away.

Newt stared in mounting horror, realising he was about to lose three of his best friends at the same time in the harshest, most _brutal_ way possible. Alby was out, Lesley had keeled over, and Minho looked on the verge of passing out himself. And there was nothing he could do about -

Thomas suddenly sprinted forward. Newt made a desperate grab for him, his eyes wide, but his fingers barely brushed Thomas’s shirt before the boy slipped through the rapidly closing gap.

“Hey!” Gally yelled.

“THOMAS, NO!” Chuck screamed.

There was an uproar, all of the Gladers shouting and swearing and yelling as they surged towards what was now little more than a crevice, expressions of horror on their faces.

“TOMMY!” Newt bellowed.

“What the shuck?” Minho gaped.

Lesley looked up, eyelids fluttering. “What?” she croaked.

Thomas heard none of it, his blood pulsing so loudly in his ears he could barely hear himself think. The Doors were pressing closer and closer, squeezing, suffocating, the gap getting smaller with each passing second. Three feet, two feet -

Thomas let out a scream of effort, a burst of adrenaline through his veins, and he suddenly burst out on the other side of the wall.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

The Doors slammed shut with that same thunderous booming sound that made the ground shudder beneath their feet, signaling the coming of night.

Except she’d always been on the other side.

Lesley exhaled the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. This time, the noise had held an awful sense of finality to it, and the reality of her situation suddenly hit her like a harsh slap to the face.

She was stuck in the Maze for the night.

Except, incredibly, she wasn’t alone, but she didn’t know yet if that was a blessing or a curse. Minho was there, the boy who was quite literally her other half when it came to anything Maze related; she also had Alby, who - granted - was lying unconscious on the stone floor.

And then there was the Greenie, who had just collapsed with a severe case of buckled knees right before her eyes. Somehow, the sheer bewilderment of the situation was like a bucket of cold water over Lesley’s head; it gave her the strength she needed to haul herself upright. “ _Thomas_?” she gasped, staring at their latest arrival in unconcealed shock, her mouth agape. “What the ... _hell_ ...?”

Getting to his knees, Minho shook his head. “Good job,” he told Thomas, the mockery in his words marred by heavy panting. “You just killed yourself.”

Thomas stared at him, shock flitting across his face. “What?”

Breathing heavily, Lesley propped herself up, sitting against the wall and closing her eyes for a moment. “Just handed yourself a death sentence on day ... three? Is that what you’re up to?” she panted. “Nice work. _A_ for effort. Gold star. Leave a review of the Glade, since you were clearly so shucking desperate to get out of there.”

She couldn’t have toned down the sarcasm even if she’d tried. Minho snorted loudly, the sniggering sound vaguely hysterical.

Thomas stuttered, cheeks flaming. “What, no?” He sounded annoyed. “It wasn’t - I just - I wanted to help -”

“Solid plan, but you need to work on the execution, so to speak,” Lesley mumbled, resting her head back, the panic of the Doors closing briefly giving way to sheer exhaustion; they couldn’t do anything more, now.

Minho carefully sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and took a long swig from his drink bottle. He gripped her knee in a gesture of comfort. “We tried, Les,” he panted, passing the canteen to her.

Lesley nodded, taking a sip of water. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

She couldn’t even cry now. She just felt utterly drained.

Thomas slowly got to his feet, carefully moving around the two Runners and crouching down beside their leader. He frowned. “What happened to him?”

“What does it _look_ like?” Minho bit out, taking another drink. “He got _Stung_.”

Thomas peered closer, looking at the angry wound on Alby’s temple. “What happened to his head?” he asked, noting that the sharp, deep cut was still bleeding slightly.

Lesley swallowed hard. “You saw what happened to Ben, yeah? We just did what we had to do to get him here in one piece.”

A hellish roar echoed down the corridor towards them.

“Already?” Lesley uttered weakly. It was like a shot of adrenaline through her veins, her vision lurching sickeningly into focus.

“They were already here to start with,” Minho reminded her shortly.

The two of them were on their feet in an instant, all thoughts of exhaustion forgotten aslooks of quiet terror settled on their features. “We have to move _now_ ,” Lesley whispered, a shudder rippling down her spine.

“Okay,” Thomas started, glancing up at them. “Okay, help me get him up.”

There was a distant rumbling sound, the grating of stone sliding against stone. “We gotta go,” Minho said urgently, starting down the corridor at a steady pace. “The Maze is already changing.”

With a heavy heart, Lesley turned away and began to follow after Minho. “Alby’ll slow us down!” she shouted over her shoulder at Thomas, seeing the disbelieving expression on his face. The words tasted foul in her mouth; it went against everything she stood for, to leave someone behind, but every decision they made from now on counted.

Lesley suddenly comprehended the logistics of surviving the night. Not only were there Grievers prowling the passageways, but they had no food and minimal water left to last. They were already exhausted after running all day, and they were highly likely to catch a chill from the combination of sweat and drenched clothing.

Above all that, they had to survive for twelve hours, and the clock was already ticking.

A wave of determination swept over Lesley. They were all going to die that night, that much was certain if the stories were anything to go by, but she’d be damned if she was just going to walk towards her death willingly.

Hell no. She would go down fighting every step of the way.

_One foot in front of the other_ , she told herself. _Keep going, keep -_

“Hey, Minho!” Thomas called. “Lesley!”

They paused.

Thomas shook his head. “We can’t just leave him here,” he said desperately.

Lesley and Minho shared a long, indecipherable look, the two of them silently weighing up the odds. Alby had already cost them getting back to the Doors on time, but he was hardly in a position to defend himself on the matter. Plus, he had been Stung; there was the same amount of chance that he would either pull through or go raving mad at the lot of them, in which case they would be forced to Banish him to the Maze anyway.

Did they want to put their own lives at risk more than they already had, and put faith in the potential outcome that Alby would survive the Changing?

“At least we all have each other,” Lesley recounted softly, hardly able to believe that Alby had uttered those words to her only a day earlier.

Minho swallowed. “We need to count on one another.”

It was Alby’s legacy, what he had instilled in each and every one of them when they had emerged from the Box, frightened and lost; it was what it meant to be a Glader. They had to at least _try_.

With a small smile at the Keeper, Lesley started back towards Thomas. “Alright,” she said, crouching down on the other side of Alby. “Alright. But if a Griever suddenly comes along, don’t expect me to hang around to become its dinner.”

Thomas stared at her in disbelief, a flash of curiosity in his eyes. “Why - why are you guys so scared of them?” he asked quietly. “How do you know what they even _look_ like? No one’s ever seen one and survived.”

Lesley swallowed hard. “I have. And let me tell you, it has haunted my dreams ever since.” She shook her head, a look of determination settling on her features. “Now, are you gonna help me or not, Greenie?”

Thomas finally shut his gaping jaw and nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah.”

Lesley glanced up at the Keeper. “Go scout ahead, will you, Min? Make sure we’ve still got a path.”

With a roll of his eyes, Minho ducked out of sight around the corner. Grunting with the effort, Lesley and Thomas hauled Alby upright with some difficulty, each of them pulling an arm across their shoulders as they staggered to their feet.

“You good, Lesley?” Thomas asked, wincing at the look of sheer exhaustion plastered across her face. “Can you - are you okay to -?”

She shook her head. “Just keep moving. We have to keep moving.”

Minho reappeared at the end of the corridor, nodding sharply at them. “This way’s clear so far. Let’s go!”

Suddenly taking in the situation in front of him, Minho sprinted forward and grabbed Alby’s feet so that the three of them were equally supporting the weight of their leader between them.

“Thanks,” Lesley panted.

Minho nodded again. “Let’s go,” he repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN.
> 
> So yes, a slight stall on this one. I had the text I wrote last year that was mainly the Gladers'/Newt's/Thomas's POV, and then I desperately wanted to add in what Lesley and Minho were experiencing. Cue several hectic days and me yelling at my work trying to fit the puzzle together *laughs/cries*
> 
> But it was well worth it! I'm super happy with it, and love the panic that Minho and Lesley are experiencing when they realise time is running out. I love imagining things from a POV not shown in the films.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the switching POV! Did it increase the action and drama for you? Feel free to comment (no matter when you're reading this). Kudos is, as always greatly appreciated! xx
> 
> PS: Might have some chapters up pretty quickly!! I have the next five chapters pretty much ready to go and I'm eager to post haha, schedule depending. See you all soon!


	20. This is the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night in the Maze begins aka Thomas has an idea, Minho abandons ship, and Lesley and Thomas play hide-and-seek with a Griever (not recommended, tbh).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Where are all my Shadowhunters fans at? Couldn't resist the title of this one! One of my favourite Ruelle songs)  
> Enjoy!!

Outside the walls of the Glade, darkness fell quicker than Lesley had anticipated, the shadows stretching across the Maze passageways and consuming any bit of light they could as they staggered through the corridors.

They turned a corner, and Minho swore under his breath as they ran into a dead end.

“Dammit,” Lesley bit out through clenched teeth. “It’s moved!”

Minho looked around wildly. “Just sit him down. Sit him down,” he instructed.

Carefully, the three of them propped Alby up against the Maze wall. Thomas collapsed beside the unconscious Glader, all three of them breathing hard as they took a well-needed rest. Alby was _heavy_.

There was another distant roaring sound, accompanied by a high-pitched shriek that sent the hairs standing up on the back of Lesley’s neck. They whirled around, looking down the long corridor that was now ahead of them.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Minho rasped, standing from his crouched position. “He’s slowing us down. We gotta go, we gotta go!”

“Wait, wait, what?” Thomas stuttered, his eyes wide and confused as he scrambled to his feet as well. “What are you talking about?” He gestured to Alby. “We gotta hide him!”

“Where?” Minho shot back.

Lesley put her head in her hands, terror and panic beginning to grab hold of her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “Guys, come on,” she begged, “let’s just think this through -”

“I don’t know!” Thomas exclaimed, exasperated. “Minho, are you telling me there’s not a single place we could take him?”

A roar of frustration burst from Minho’s throat as he turned and slammed Thomas back against the wall, hands clenched in his shirt.

“Minho!” Lesley shouted in alarm.

“Listen to me, shuckface, alright?” Minho snarled in Thomas’s face, the two almost nose to nose. “Take a look around. There’s _nowhere_ to go!”

Lesley grabbed Minho’s shoulders. “Minho, Min, come on. Please,” she whimpered. “Not now. Come on.” She had never seen him look so scared before, and it sent a bolt of icy fear through her own chest. It made her realise just how dire their situation was.

As if suddenly realising what he was doing, Minho quickly let go of Thomas, both of them panting heavily. The Keeper staggered backwards, looking ashamed of himself. “You don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head.

Thomas stared. “Get what?”

His answer was barely louder than a whisper. “We’re already dead.”

Lesley wished his words were anything but true; time was running out. It was as if her heart knew its beats were numbered, the muscle pounding in her chest.

His gaze drifting past Minho, Thomas’s eyes widened. He stepped past them as if in a daze, staring upwards with an inspired expression; the wall adjacent to them was covered in thick patches of ivy. Thomas spun around, staring at the two Runners.

“Oh, no,” Lesley muttered, catching on.

Minho pulled a face, staring at the vines. “ _Really_?”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Shuck, Les, that was some hit - he’s been out for _ages_ -”

Night had well and truly fallen by the time they had it figured out. They managed to pull some of the vines clear at base level, before Minho climbed several metres up to cut the rest away. The Keeper was adamant about who would climb the wall; Lesley was not about to argue with him on the matter a second time.

They wrapped the ends around Alby’s chest, and then all three of them pulled on the other end of the vines, slowly lugging their leader up the wall. It was painstaking work, especially for the two Runners; Lesley’s arms and legs shook with the strain after an entire day of physical exertion.

A thunderous groan echoed around them, the ground trembling beneath their boots; the walls were shifting somewhere nearby. There was a sudden alertness across Minho’s features.

“What are you doing?” Thomas hissed as Minho swung sideways. “What are you doing!”

“Min, get back here!” Lesley whispered fiercely.

Minho froze, his face blanching. “We gotta go. We gotta go now!”

“No, no, no, no, just a little more and we’ll tie it off!” Thomas garbled frantically.

A bout of rigid terror struck Lesley as she took in the sight of Minho’s expression. “There’s a Griever there, isn’t there?” she whispered in horror. “Minho? Min!”

Minho nodded silently.

Thomas gave the vines another heave. “Come on, just a little more -” he began.

A low growling noise had them all stopping dead in their tracks, and it was immediately followed by a sound that was far more unsettling and horrifically sinister.

_Click. Click. Hissss._

“Oh, _shit_!” Lesley swore under her breath, sweat beading on her brow.

The Grievers had spared her once before, but something in her gut told her that she wouldn’t get another lucky escape like that. While the Runners ruled the Maze during the day, it became the Griever’s territory the moment the Doors closed for the night.

Minho took one more look off to the side and yelped loudly in horror.

“Minho, stay with me,” Thomas begged. “Stay with me, Minho! Just a little more, we’re almost there!”

Tremors rocked Lesley’s body, her teeth chattering. “I can’t do this,” she whimpered. She was desperate to look around the corner, to see -

“Yes, yes you can,” Thomas told her. “Come on!”

Minho gritted his teeth, catching Lesley’s gaze for a brief second. “I’m sorry, Greenie.”

Thomas spun around. “What?”

Another low hiss rattled through the air, and Lesley bolted, hot on Minho’s heels as the two of them dropped their vines and sprinted down the corridor.

“Wait! WAIT!” Thomas screamed after them, scrambling for a better hold on the ivy.

Lesley threw a glance over her shoulder, his helpless cries wrenching something in her chest, and caught a glimpse of Thomas’s desperate, pleading expression of terror right before she turned the corner.

For a split second, she saw Ben.

Shuck, what the hell was she doing? What sort of person was she? Alby was unconscious and all but defenseless, and Thomas had no idea what he was in for, even if it was his own shucking fault for being in the Maze in the first place.

She skidded to a halt.

“What are you doing, Les?” Minho yelled, at the end of the passage already.

Lesley’s jaw clenched. “Sorry, Min. Ben’s death is already on my conscience.”

And then she ran.

“LESLEY!” Minho roared after her. “When I told you to walk up to a Griever, I didn’t mean like _that_! You stupid shank!”

She ignored him, hurtling back towards Thomas. “Come on, come on, come on!” she gasped, grabbing the ropes of ivy again.

Staring at her in disbelief, Thomas grunted as they hauled on the vines together. “What happened to not becoming dinner?!”

“Slinthead, I’m not about to let the both of you die!” Lesley snarled.

“What, change of heart?”

“When you’ve seen the things I have? Yes. Slim the sarcasm, Greenie, or I _will_ leave you.”

Another shriek pierced the air. Thomas looked around the passage frantically. “We gotta hide!” he hissed.

Lesley was hit by a sense of deja vu. “Where?”

Thomas’s gaze darted up and down the wall. “Can we - can we -? Hang on, let go -”

He yanked on the vines, bending his knees and testing the weight. The ivy held.

“Under here, under here,” Thomas hissed, hitting the ground and scrambling under the thick curtain of vines, disappearing seconds later.

Lesley looked around; she didn’t have much choice.

“Lesley!” Thomas hissed.

Grimacing, Lesley dropped onto her stomach and pushed at the ivy, rolling underneath as he passed her the tail end of Alby’s vine; her head was level with Thomas’s knees. Her gaze darted around frantically, checking that she was out of sight.

“You’re fine,” Thomas assured her; his words sounded more like a gulp. “Shh, shh, shh.”

The silence was so loud Lesley felt it pressing painfully against her eardrums. But then -

_Click-clack. CLANK. Schlick. Click-click._

From beneath the clumps of ivy, the lower half of the Griever lumbered into view.

Lesley had to clamp her hand over her own mouth to stifle the whimpers of terror that threatened to break free of her throat; her heart was pounding so loud she wondered if the Griever would be able to hear its thunder. Beside her, Thomas’s eyes were shockingly wide, his body trembling violently as he stared at the passing form of the Griever.

_CLANK. Schlick. CLANK. Schlick. CLANK._

In the dead silence of the night, Lesley could hear the whir of the creature’s mechanical legs, the shift of every joint. It lumbered like a crab on the flat ground, scuttling lurchingly along the corridor on pincers. She jumped at every jarring stab of metal into the stone ground; now, she understood the odd grooves that littered the Maze floor: they were literal Griever footprints.

_Schlick. Clank-clank-clank. Schlick. Clank-clank-clank._

The noises became faster, and Lesley’s blood ran cold as there was another low growl and a soft hiss. _Please don’t let it see us. Please don’t let it hear us, or smell us -_

They stayed there, pressed against the cold wall beneath the vines, listening to the sounds of the Griever clattering down the passage away from them. When the air was finally and blissfully silent, they crawled back into the open and Thomas deftly tied off the vines holding Alby to the wall; a harsh tug proved their leader wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s gone?” Thomas asked, panting heavily as he clambered back to his feet, staring down the empty corridor beside Lesley.

She shook her head. “No,” she gasped, her gut instincts screaming that something was dreadfully wrong. “We’re being hunted.”

Something feather-light touched Lesley’s shoulder. She looked down and yelped, seeing the pile of yellow goo that had drizzled onto her shirt; Thomas was staring at the same collection of slime dribbling down his own collarbone. “What -?!”

They glanced at each other with expressions of pure dread, and then ever so slowly the two Gladers turned around, gazes lifting to the sky.

Lesley stared upwards with a sense of endlessly increasing horror. “So that’s how they Sting them,” she uttered weakly. “They attack from above.”

Its thick metal legs holding it in place between the two walls, the Griever bared its monstrous jaws, roaring so loudly that Lesley had to clamp her hands over her ears. Slime flew everywhere, dripping from its teeth.

“RUN!” Lesley roared, reluctantly moving one hand to briefly snatch Thomas’s wrist, yanking him after her as they set off at a dead sprint.

“What’s the plan?” Thomas shouted as she dropped his arm.

Lesley gritted her teeth. “Not dying, how about that!”

They skidded around a corner, then another, and another, grabbing onto the edges of the stone to haul themselves into the adjacent passages with as much speed as possible. “Where is it, where is it?” Lesley gasped, terror coursing through her.

There was an almighty crash, and she screamed as the Griever launched itself into the corridor ahead of them, both Lesley and Thomas frantically skidding to a halt with flailing limbs. “GO, GO, GO!” Thomas roared, shoving her back.

It was like the literal incarnation of death itself was hounding her, pursuing her in recompense for a fate she had escaped long ago. It wasn’t about being cunning, or trying to outsmart the damn thing; it was about making it the shuck out of there alive. She felt wild, hysterical with a terror that had her legs galloping ten steps ahead of her thoughts. _Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. Right. Left._ It was a blur in Lesley’s mind; it didn’t matter. _Nothing_ did. Nothing above the sheer need to survive that seeped into every possible crevice in her body. She was seeing everything in high definition, every colour, every detail, her mind moving fast, too fast, grasping at details in split seconds - corner there - dark, too dark - it’s behind us - shuck, oh, shuck - double back - lose it - turn here - around and around and around until Lesley wanted to scream at her brain to _stop_.

Abruptly, amidst the pandemonium of her thoughts, she realised that she was alone.

She skidded to a halt. Somewhere, somehow, she and Thomas had been separated. Lesley ran a hand through her disheveled hair, looking around wildly, her chest heaving. She’d been so focused on her own survival that she hadn’t even noticed the absence of Thomas’s footsteps over the thunder of blood pounding in her ears.

“Thomas?” Lesley hissed. “Thomas!”

And then there was a terrified scream ... from _above_ her.

“Shucking hell!” Lesley gasped, seeing the dark silhouette scrambling across the tops of the walls. “THOMAS!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fave things about Minho is that he's scared out of his mind, it's nice to see these guys being genuinely vulnerable. He just wants to survive, and that's an overwhelming instinct.  
> Ben's Banishing affected Lesley in a lot of ways, it's going to take some time for her, but at least it gives her the strength to go back and help Thomas (although, that's an interesting little grey area - it's more out of guilt than because she really cares about Thomas. She still barely knows the guy).
> 
> This chapter was really long (creeping towards 5k) so I split it in two to even it out a little, sorry not sorry for the little cliffhanger!! *bites knuckles* eeee onwards to the next one!


	21. The Darkest Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grievers hunt, Thomas and Lesley have a death wish, and Minho is 1000% done with their shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops and flees*

_[From previous chapter]:_

_And then there was a terrified scream ... from_ above _her._

_“Shucking hell!” Lesley gasped, seeing the dark silhouette scrambling across the tops of the walls. “THOMAS!”_

She raced off after him, her gaze darting between the path ahead and the sky above; this section of the Maze had lower walls than most.  “THOMAS!” she yelled again.

Just then, a figure _flew_ across the gap between the two walls above her; Lesley just about slammed into the stone in front of her in shock. And the Griever was right behind him, snarling up a storm, the shuddering _clunk_ of metal piercing the night.

Lesley took off, bolting through the Maze, her lungs clawing for air. But she wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t stop; her gaze was fixed determinedly on the stars, her ears straining for every gasp and yell and Griever screech.

She reached another towering wall of vines, and the trail stopped dead at the abrupt break in the array of stones. Looking up, Lesley saw Thomas’s figure flailing on the edge of the precipice adjacent to the ivy. Terror consumed his features, his eyes wide and panicked as he glanced over his shoulder frantically.

Lesley didn’t need to look to know what was behind him. “JUMP!” she shrieked. “For the love of all shuck! JUMP, THOMAS!”

With one last glance at her, Thomas hurried backwards. There was the clatter of footsteps and then Thomas leaped into view once again, clearing the gap and landing against the ivy on the opposite wall, hands scrambling for grip as he swung on the vines.

Before Lesley could breathe a sigh of relief, the Griever launched itself after him. “NO!” she screamed.

The creature scrambled for a hold in the vines, pointed metal feet digging into the stone walls. It released a bellowing roar that seemed to make the earth and sky quake all around them. Saliva spewed from its jaws as it hovered over Thomas, snarling and shrieking as he cowered beneath its abdomen.

“OVER HERE!” Lesley yelled, waving her arms, but the creature was dead set on Thomas.

A sharp mechanical whir pierced the air amidst the cacophony. One of the Griever’s legs lifted from the vines, and a canister detached from it’s metal pincer leg; on the end was a frighteningly large needle, two feet long. Lesley’s eyes widened. “Thomas, watch out!”

Thomas had all but a split second to see the syringe before he let go of the vines with a scream of terror, plummeting ten feet as the needle plunged into the wall where his head had just been.

Shrieking furiously, the Griever scrambled downwards to get him, metal pincers ripping at the ivy. There was a muffled ripping noise and the entire wall of vines was suddenly wrenched away from the stone, the greenery crashing downwards with both Thomas and the Griever painfully entangled in the mass.

Lesley ran in the moment they hit the ground. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed at Thomas, furiously tugging the vines away from him. “Come on, Thomas! Get up! Get up!”

The Griever snarled, blasting them with another ear-splitting shriek as it clawed at Thomas. Her hands under his arms, Lesley heaved Thomas backwards out of reach. He kicked and shoved at the ivy still ensnaring his body, his torso drenched with sweat.

Finally clear of the vines, Lesley snatched Thomas’s arm as he staggered awkwardly to his feet. “Come on, Tarzan!”

Leaving the enraged Griever to free itself, they sprinted wildly in the opposite direction and took the first right, hurtling down the adjacent passage on violently unstable legs.

Something jumped out of the blackness and suddenly grabbed Thomas’s shirt. Lesley screamed.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, Greenie!” Minho gasped.

Swearing under her breath, Lesley punched his shoulder forcefully. “That’s for leaving us, shuckface!” she growled.

“Some of us wanna live, slinthead,” Minho shot back. “Came back though, didn’t I?”

A moment later, they grinned at each other. At the same time, the Griever roared furiously from around the corner, clearly slashing away at the vines as it fought to free itself. All three of them were abruptly dragged back to the present by the sound.

Thomas nervously started backing away. “Uh, can you guys kiss and make up later?” he asked weakly.

Lesley flushed scarlet.

Without missing a beat, Minho grabbed Lesley’s wrist. “Come on, follow me, follow me!” he shouted.

The three of them set off sprinting through the Maze, Lesley and Thomas tight on Minho’s heels. “Glad you’re not dead,” Lesley gasped.

“Same. The world would be a terrible place without me -”

There was an ear-splitting _CRACK_ followed by the harsh sound of grinding stone, making them all jump at its proximity.

“Okay, it’s changing, it’s changing,” Minho panted, fearfully glancing upwards. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Lesley looked up at the high walls, listening hard, her mind’s eye concentrating on the shifting of the Maze, the patterns she had all but memorised, listening for where the movements were happening.

“Hang a left up here!” she suddenly yelled. “Left! Turn left!”

Minho didn’t question her, skidding to a halt just inside the next turn to inspect their surroundings and get his bearings. “Nice one, Les!” he shouted proudly. “This section is closing. Come on!” They started running again. “We can lose it down here!”

Lesley looked over her shoulder, coming to an abrupt stop when she realised that Thomas wasn’t following anymore. He was looking back up the other passage in the direction of the Griever. Her heart in her mouth, she stepped over to join him.

“Thomas!” Minho yelled, already at the other end of the corridor. “Lesley! What are you doing? Get out of there!”

There was an enraged shriek and the Griever burst into view, crashing against the wall further down the corridor. It slammed its pincers into the ground, snarling at them. Lesley felt a hysterical urge to laugh in the face of death, the adrenaline pumping through her body suddenly making her immune to fear. She glanced at Thomas, realising that they might, just _might_ , have a chance.

“We need to get it to come this way,” Thomas said.

Lesley grinned wolfishly. “I’ve got this.”

Thomas’s eyes bulged. “Wait -”

“HEY! PEA-BRAIN!” Lesley screamed down the corridor, cupping her mouth with her hands. “YOU DIDN’T KILL ME LAST TIME, DID YA, YOU DUMB SHUCKFACE!”

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Minho roared. “Get out of there! Have you lost your _mind_ , Les?!”

But it was what they needed. The Griever let out another furious screech, its horrific jaws gaping open as the creature bared its teeth and bolted down the corridor towards them like a bull charging a red flag.

“Oh, shit, MOVE!” Thomas yelled, grabbing Lesley’s arm and hauling her along with him, the two of them breaking into a sprint.

Lesley’s legs were shaking so horrifically she thought her knees might buckle. Please don’t, she begged. _Please please please -_

“Come on, Thomas!” Minho screamed. “Lesley! Don’t look back!”

The ground shuddered beneath their feet as the disorientated Griever smashed into the wall after it took the corner too sharply. “COME ON!” Thomas goaded, spinning around to briefly taunt the creature, encouraging the horrifying chase.

And then they were moving again. Sprinting, faster and faster. The corridor, shrinking by the second; ten, nine, eight feet -

“RUN!” Minho shouted, his throat painfully raw. “Move it, go on!”

Lesley put on a burst of speed, racing past Thomas, her heart thrashing wildly in her ribcage. The Griever roared again, the terrifying sound even closer. Everything was shaking around them as the walls shifted, showering them with dust and rubble.

Minho was screaming at them now, terror etched into every line of his features. “Move your asses! Let’s go! Come on! Come on, Greenie! Let’s go! LESLEY!”

Reaching out, Minho grabbed Lesley as she slipped through the gap, pulling her tightly into his arms, and then his eyes suddenly widened. “THOMAS!”

“GO, GO, GO!” Lesley screamed.

Thomas burst through the narrow crevice between the two walls and slammed into Minho and Lesley with such force that the three of them crashed heavily and painfully to the hard ground.

Behind him, the Griever barreled towards them; a scream tore from Lesley’s throat.

With a nauseating squelching noise mixed with a chilling _CRUNCH_ , the two Maze walls slammed shut on either side of the Griever - or, at least, tried to; the creature shuddered to a stop with a shrieking sound that abruptly cut off, multiple limbs splaying out from the tiny crevice that was barely a foot wide and stretching out towards them. Blood or mucus or _something_ sprayed out and hit the three Gladers, splattering their faces and clothes with muck.

Silence fell.

Lesley coughed. “Minho, get off me, you big oaf.”

Minho glanced down at her from where he had fallen, half on top of her even as Thomas lay sprawled across his own legs. “Huh?”

“First, can’t breathe,” Lesley grunted. “Second, _precious cargo_.”

Minho frowned. “Precious ...? Oh.”

Lesley threw him a deadpan look, rolling her eyes. “You idiot. Haven’t you ever seen a girl before?”

Minho blinked. “Uh, no. Not before you.” A sudden blush staining his cheeks, he glanced over at Thomas. “Oi, Greenie. Move.”

Thomas immediately scrambled off him, pressing himself against the wall and bracing his hand on the stone for support, still breathing heavily from the sprint.

As he got to his feet and reached out a hand to pull Lesley up as well, Minho shook his head. “I changed my mind,” he panted. “Both you slintheads are shucking crazy. You’re not gonna last the night if you keep pulling klunk like that. _Hey, pea-brain_ ...”

But there was a flash of admiration in his eyes, a strange look of quiet awe settling on his features. Lesley smiled to herself at the sight of it as she bent over, hands pressed against her thighs as she fought for breath; adrenaline surged through her veins, and she almost felt giddy. “Is it dead?” she gasped.

Pursing his lips, Minho stretched out his leg and hesitantly nudged one of the Griever’s arms with his boot. Thomas and Lesley both froze at the contact, but the creature didn’t move.

Minho nodded to himself in satisfaction. “As good as,” he said.

Thomas gulped down some air. “We should keep moving,” he wheezed. “I don’t think we should stick around.”

“I second that,” Lesley rasped.

Minho looked between her and Thomas, his brow furrowing slightly as if assessing the condition of the two Gladers under his watch. Finally he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Do me a favour and try to keep up.”

“Slinthead,” Lesley laughed under her breath, knowing that the barb held no real weight; she could tell that the Keeper had been impressed by their actions, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

She took off after him, with Thomas close on her heels. The three of them ran and ran in the hopes that they would reach an area of the labyrinth that they once again recognised, their quick yet sure footsteps slapping against the hard ground, making turn after turn as they listened to the shifting of the Maze, now the only other sound in the night.

Minho grinned suddenly, his teeth gleaming in the dim light as they hurried through the corridors, now three abreast. “Think you two shanks impressed the bigwigs in the sky,” he laughed. “Haven’t heard another -”

Just then, another Griever screech pierced the air.

“And now you’ve just insulted them,” Thomas grumbled.

“Minho,” Lesley groaned. “What did we talk about counting your chickens?”

His eyes gleaming with sudden mischief, Minho opened his mouth to respond when Lesley swiftly cut him off with, “And if you make a cock joke I will toss your shuck ass to that Griever when it shows up.”

A smug grin spread across the Keeper’s face once again as he reached out and punched Lesley’s arm lightly. Grinning back, she understood how he felt; with one Griever down already, she felt invincible.

But not indestructible enough to take down another one, thank you very much.

They moved away from the noise as quickly as they were able to, but with the Maze still changing to a new pattern, they were running blind. In the madness that had ensued in the chase, Lesley had completely lost all sense of direction, of what walls were shifting where within the labyrinth. With the wailing, screeching noises of the Grievers echoing along the passageways from what sounded like multiple directions, she could only hope like hell that they were going the right way. Time was nonexistent; the only things that mattered were the sounds of their breathing, their footsteps, and the Maze.

“Stop,” Minho ordered suddenly.

Not needing any more words, the three of them leaned back against one of the walls for a moment, catching their breaths. Lesley had been almost scared to stop, wondering if she would be able to keep moving again if she did. Her legs shook horrendously. “They say that the darkest hour is just before the dawn,” she gasped, looking up at the heavens and noting how brightly the stars were gleaming.

Of course, she didn’t know _who_ had said that specifically. It just seemed to be one of those odd tidbits of information about the way the world worked that she had been allowed to remember.

Thomas looked up at the sky. “Feels pretty dark right now,” he muttered.

Minho nodded, shivering. “Can’t be long, then,” he puffed.

There was another spine-chilling roar, this time much closer; the hairs on the back of Lesley’s neck stood up on end. “Break’s over,” she said.

With only firm nods of agreement from the two boys in response, they surged deep into the labyrinth once again, moving in the opposite direction to the Griever sounds. They ran for a seemingly endless amount of time; they ran until Lesley wanted to pass out from hunger and exhaustion; her throat was parched, and not even her own saliva helped.

Suddenly, Minho’s eyes lit up. “This way, this way!” he called excitedly, putting on a burst of speed and taking off down the left fork in the pathway.

They ran until they reached a familiar patch of thick vines climbing a stone wall. And it was then, as the grey light of false dawn crept across the sky, that the three of them finally collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, blatant Merlin references in this chapter! I'm in so many fandoms I don't know what to do with them. The dialogue about the darkest hour was one of my favourites in 4x01 so I wanted to include it for these guys. The image of them huddled in the darkness reminded me of Merlin and Arthur in that scene.
> 
> These past two chapters have some of my favourite to write!! It has everything - suspense, fear, laughs - and I had such a great time, typing away madly for a couple of nights listening to Hans Zimmer music!
> 
> I really enjoyed the end bit as well, a little extra scene that is not shown in the movie but I wanted to write, because they still had a long way to go before dawn and it's great to see them Minho, Lesley and Thomas interacting with one another. Once they're out of the Maze, Minho and Thomas were on much better terms and I wanted to show how, what else these three went through together. And yay, Minho returned to help save the day!
> 
> I had the end part of this chapter done months before the first half but it took some time to get the entire chapter up and running (haha) and making sure the two sections matched. I'm very happy with the end result!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts down in the comments! Kudos is, as always, greatly appreciated.


	22. Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath aka the Gladers are sleep deprived, Lesley scares everyone, and nightmares ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been looking forward to this one! This chapter took a lot of tweaking before I was finally happy with it, and now it's ready to go. Enjoy xx

“Hey, guys!” Chuck called urgently. “Get up!”

Heads began to pop up amidst the grass, the boys roused from their fitful slumbers. Frypan yawned; Gally rolled his shoulders as he sat up; Winston, Zart, Jeff and Chad stumbled to their feet with varying degrees of alertness. The grass in front of the Doors was littered with blankets.

Despite the painful cramp in his leg from his uncomfortable sleeping position, Newt had been on his feet the moment he’d heard the first telltale creak that the Doors were about to open. Rubbing tiredly at his shadowed eyes, he stepped closer to the towering stones as they lurched open with a thunderous groan.

The boys gathered around the widening gap. Winston’s fists were tightly clenched to stop the tremors. Frypan folded his arms, his eyes glassy. Looking unusually anxious beside him, Gally drew a sharp breath, brows denting worse than ever. Newt wasn’t sure what he hoped to see; his entire body went rigid as they all stared into the Maze, the world staggering to a halt around them.

The passageway was empty.

The Gladers shifted, all of them craning their necks, but there was no sign of their friends. Not even a mere scrap of clothing to prove that they’d even _existed_. Just like Ben, it was like they had been struck from the surface of their world, leaving only a memory.

There was nothing but the soft sound of the wind through the trees.

Swallowing heavily, Newt felt his heart shatter. He gripped Chuck's shoulder tightly as if to hold himself upright. “I told you, Chuck,” he said quietly, knowing that his voice would crack if he spoke any louder. “They’re not coming back.”

His chest tightening painfully, he turned away, each step harder than the next. Slowly, the other boys around him began to follow, heads hung low in defeat, cursing their foolishness for simply _hoping_. Gally’s eyes drifted to the distant wall of names; a sudden lump formed in his throat as he turned away.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Zart. “No way,” he uttered incredulously, taking a step closer to the Maze and squinting at the shadows. The other Gladers paused, glancing over their shoulders.

Chuck spun around to look, and a massive grin suddenly split his chubby face. “Yeah!” he cheered, a crow of pure joy. “Yeah! YES!”

There they were, staggering down the final Maze corridor together; Minho, Lesley and Thomas, all three of them carrying a still unconscious yet evidently alive Alby between them. They were drenched with sweat and grime, teeth gritted and fatigue carved into every line of their faces. They were covered in cuts, grazes and scrapes, and their clothes were torn and filthy.

“Nearly there,” Thomas gasped, readjusting his grip on Alby’s feet.

Lesley grunted with the strain. If she’d been exhausted twelve hours ago, it was nothing compared to what she felt now; she honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if she suddenly dropped dead. She thought her arms might fall off. Or her feet.

Minho’s expression was frighteningly glazed over. Lesley nudged him with her boot, almost losing her balance in the process. “Come on, Min,” she rasped.

He nodded jerkily in reply.

The ground thundered as a stampede ensued, the other Gladers sprinting to the edge of the Maze. Newt was at the front of the gathered crowd, his blond hair a beacon in the rising sunlight; all of the boys were screaming encouragement, their eyes alight as if they were witnessing the birth of a miracle. _Maybe they were,_ Lesley thought.

“Keep going!” Frypan hollered.

Chuck had his hands cupped around his mouth. “You can do it! Come on!”

The roar in Lesley’s ears grew louder with every step; her head spun dizzyingly as she focused on holding Alby’s weight on her shoulders, staring fixedly at the blurring mass of brown and white and blue clothing that crowded the Maze entrance.

Salt water brushed Lesley’s dry, cracked lips, and she realised that tears were pouring down her numb and dirt-encrusted face as they staggered, one shaking, exhausted step at a time, towards the Glade, the arms of their friends stretching out towards them from the threshold, welcoming them home.

And then, suddenly, they were there.

“I got him, I got him, I got him!” Frypan called as he wrapped an arm around Alby’s torso to take the weight from Minho; Chad rushed forward to relieve Lesley.

“Watch out. Watch out!” Gally cried.

Winston adjusted his grip to help another Glader, Jack. “Easy!”

They lowered Alby to the ground with great care. Jeff immediately knelt down, examining him as Clint came running towards the group from the Homestead, his medical satchel slung across his shoulders and bouncing against his body. Lesley stared down at Alby; miraculously, he had survived the night slung up in the ivy, and in some ways looked better than his three Maze companions - if it weren’t for the fact that he had been Stung and then brutally knocked unconscious.

“Lesley! Minho!”

“Newt!” Lesley gasped, hauling the blond boy into a fierce hug as the two of them sank to the ground, Minho and Thomas right beside her.

“Bloody hell, Les,” Newt choked out, wiry arms wrapping around her, squeezing her back.

Lesley could have _kissed_ the ground she sat on right at that moment; she’d never been so happy to see the Glade. Every sensation was heightened as if experiencing it for the first time, like she was seeing in colour again after an eternity in shades of grey. She inhaled deeply. Animals bleated over by the gardens; wind rustled through the trees of the Deadheads; the mouth-watering aroma of smoked meat wafted across the fields.

It was the sounds and smells of home, and it made Lesley weep with pure joy, her torso shuddering with sobs.

And the _boys_. The Gladers that owned her heart in every way possible, their intensely worried faces looming over her, relieved grins plastered across their features. She never wanted to leave them again.

Newt pulled back, his face still pale. “How the bloody shuck hell did you lot survive?” he asked weakly. “Heard the buggin’ Grievers all night.”

“And screaming,” Zart said shakily. “So, _so_ much screaming.”

Newt shuddered. He had been woken from his exhausted, fitful doze sometime in the middle of the night by what was unmistakably the faint sound of screaming, high-pitched shrieks of terror that chilled him to the bone far more than the frequent roars of the Grievers that he’d been hearing for several hours. For all he knew, it was the sounds of his friends being mercilessly torn limb from limb.

“Shucking hell, come ‘ere, Les,” Gally said gruffly, crouching beside her and clamping his arms around her. Lesley froze for a moment in surprise before she returned the contact, hugging him back just as tightly. The embrace only lasted a few seconds before Gally pulled away, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Her brain finally catching up to her eyes, Lesley took in the colourful array of blankets littering the grass. “What’s all this?” she asked. When several of the boys averted their gazes sheepishly, realisation struck her. All of the Gladers were unnaturally pale, dark shadows under their eyes. She felt a pang in her chest at the thought that they had been awake all night out of sheer terror for their unknown fate, her eyes welling up with tears of pure love for the Gladers. “Oh, shuck. You guys really waited here for us.”

“‘Course we did, Les,” Frypan said, his smile watery as he squeezed her shoulder warmly.

Just then, Alec arrived with several canteens of water. Snatching one from his grasp, Lesley frantically guzzled down the cool liquid like it was fountain of youth or some equivalent.

“Woah, woah, Les!” Newt cried, carefully tugging the flask from her mouth. “Don’t make yourself sick. There’s time.” He rubbed her back as she coughed raggedly, her throat still unbearably raw. “There’s time,” he repeated soothingly, glancing worriedly at Frypan.

Minho wiped his mouth of the back of his hand, letting out a satisfied gasp as he glanced at his half empty canteen. “Water never tasted so good,” he rasped.

Meanwhile, Chuck stared wide-eyed at Alby’s wounds, the dark veins across his neck and the sizable patch of blood on his shirt hard to miss. “You saw a Griever?” he asked Thomas, his mouth gaping open.

Chad reached out, gripping Minho’s shoulder and then Lesley’s with a hand each as he crouched behind them. Lesley smiled weakly at him, and he returned it with a grin; they didn’t need any words.

Thomas nodded, taking a sip from his own water flask. “Yeah, I saw one.”

Minho shook his head in disbelief at the sheer understatement. “He didn’t just see it,” he told the group. “He and Les shucking _killed_ it.”

There was a shocked, stunned silence, the Glader boys staring at them with wide and bulging eyes. Thomas fidgeted nervously at the sudden, unwanted attention, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

In the quiet that followed, exhaustion hit Lesley like a brick wall; with nothing left to sustain her, her body apparently decided that it didn’t have a reason to be awake any longer. She sagged against Newt unceremoniously, and he snapped into action.

“Winston, Zart,” he called, wrapping a firm arm around Lesley to keep her upright. “Help Clint and Jeff get Alby to the Med-jack’s hut. You know what to do.”

“Good that.”

“Sure, Newt.”

“I’ll make sure they’re set up,” Gally offered. When Newt nodded, he walked off, but not before he lightly punched Minho’s shoulder in acknowledgment.

Newt turned to Lesley, Minho and Thomas. “Come on, you shanks,” he said, sternly but kindly. “We’re taking you lot there as well. You can sleep for an hour or so, have a shower, Fry can cook you some food, and then we’ll bloody decide what to do with you lot. Need to call a Gathering.”

Barely looking conscious himself, Thomas stared blearily at him in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?”

Newt grinned crookedly at him. “Well, as happy as I am to see you shanks alive, _you_ kinda broke our number one rule, Tommy.” He clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Sleep first, and then we’ll sort this buggin’ klunk out. Good that?”

They all nodded silently, staggering to their feet.

Newt glanced at Frypan. “Fry, keep the fires stoked for a little while, yeah?”

“You bet,” Frypan grinned as they all started towards the med hut. “Gonna cook you the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten in your lives.”

Lesley laughed weakly and glanced at Thomas and Minho, both of them looking as worn out and shaken as she felt as they dragged their feet across the Glade, hands clutching each other’s shoulders for support. They smiled back at her through the fog of exhaustion; there were some things you just couldn’t do without becoming best friends, and surviving a night in the Maze together was apparently one of them.

Suddenly, Lesley’s head started to spin, the ground reeling beneath her. “I think I’m gonna pass out,” she mumbled, face blanching of colour.

“Les?” Minho asked, right before his grin was abruptly replaced by a look of panic. “Oh, _shit_!”

“Woah, woah, hey!” Newt shouted, alarmed.

It was a scramble of limbs with Minho, Thomas, Frypan and Newt all lunging forward to grab Lesley as she collapsed, the boys barely catching her as she spiraled away into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

_Darkness. Running. Walls shaking. Moving._

_A Griever, thundering down the passageway after her, teeth bared. Roaring, screeching._

_Running faster and faster, the monster catching up._

_Closer and closer; the Griever snarled, raised an appendage, a stinger unfolding from within the metal joints -_

“Les!”

She woke up with a muffled scream, a cold hand clamped tight over her mouth. As she fought to control her breathing, she tried to focus on the person leaning over her. Blond hair. Dark eyes. Newt.

“You alright there, Les?” he asked softly, carefully drawing his hand away, a concerned frown on his face.

Lesley nodded shakily, the terror slowly fading from her features. Exhaling heavily, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, Newt bracing his hand against her shoulder to help. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s just the shucking Grievers won’t leave me alone,” she said, letting out a laugh devoid of any humour. She wiped her sweaty palms on the blanket.

She abruptly became aware of how unbearably sticky her arms felt. She glanced down and saw that she was plastered in gunk from head to foot; she was _filthy_. “Oh, shuck. I look like klunk,” Lesley groaned. She wrinkled her nose. “And smell like it, too.”

Newt laughed. “Not far off. There were plenty of volunteers to wash ya, I can assure you,” he grinned teasingly, throwing her a wink, “but we thought it better to let you rest first.”

Lesley glanced about, taking note of her surroundings. She was in the Med-jack hut, the wooden shack illuminated by sparse lamps and the sunlight streaking in through the cracks in the roof and walls. There were several hastily made beds alongside her own. Her body tensed; she didn’t need to ask who lay behind the curtain at the far end of the room - the laboured breathing gave Alby away instantly.

“Hey,” Newt said softly, drawing her attention once again. “He’s okay.”

Lesley shook her head. “No, he’s not.”

Newt sighed. “No,” he agreed. “But he’s stable, and he’s _here_ because of you shanks. We can look after him now.”

Lesley twisted her fingers in the blanket pooling at her waist, feeling a surge of guilt. For one terrifying moment - when she hadn’t even recognised herself - she had been willing to abandon both Alby and Thomas to the Grievers to save her own skin, and that wasn’t counting how all three of them left their leader dangling unconscious twenty feet up a wall of ivy, a meal in waiting whilst they ran for their lives.

Newt passed her a cup of water, which she gratefully accepted, taking a long drink. “How’s the head? Gave us a bloody good scare when ya keeled over back there.”

Lesley winced. “I didn’t mean to pass out,” she mumbled guiltily.

New shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he told her, his expression softening. “Minho looked a bit pale when he woke up as well. You guys got put through the wringer last night; I’m not surprised.”

Lesley immediately perked up. “He’s awake?”

A nod. “He and Tommy only got out of the shower about ten minutes ago,” Newt said. “I figured it’d be better to wake you all up after a few hours, otherwise you won’t sleep tonight and be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Good that.” Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Lesley stretched, wincing at the uncomfortable ache in her muscles. “How long were we out?”

Newt tilted his head, gaze drifting skywards in thought. “Hmm ... about three hours.”

Lesley raised her eyebrows. “What happened to the _short_ nap you were telling us about?”

“Hey, you needed it,” Newt told her with a wry smile. He stood up. “Come on. Shower time, then we’ll get you some food.”

Lesley reached out and snagged his wrist before he could move too far. “Newt,” she started hesitantly. She hadn’t been able to forget the image of the sheer heartrending relief on Newt’s face when they had stumbled out of the Maze. “You doing okay?”

Newt gave her hand a quick squeeze then helped pull Lesley to her feet, his gaze steady and warm. “I’m much better now,” he told her, smiling earnestly. “Thanks, Les.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatant Harry Potter reference at the end there, haha.
> 
> It breaks my heart a little, the idea of heaps of the Gladers camping out in front of the Doors, not because they're sure their friends will survive, but because it's their own way of showing support, thinking that it might help in some way. These boys are massive softies, they just won't admit it. (Even Gally!! My image of him is that he lets his walls down around the people he really trusts - which of course you don't really see in the movie because of Thomas's POV).
> 
> Mama Noot moments are always amazing, they're my absolute favourite to write. He cares so much about everyone. Ow, my heart again.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading another chapter! I'm an absolute sucker for fics with characters reuniting after believing the other was dead, so this chapter was a bit of a guilty pleasure for me to write.  
> As always, let me know your thoughts! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. See you all soon!
> 
> (PS: I've been working on some Malec fics - Shadowhunters - as well, which has been a nice break! Got my first one uploaded, feel free to check it out!)


	23. Gatherings, Girls and Gally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gladers debate, Lesley loses her temper, and the Box brings an unexpected arrival ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with another one! Updating sooner than usual because I've literally had this chapter ready for months. It was one of the first scenes I wrote for some reason so just needed a little bit of editing to fit it in with the rest of the story.  
> Enjoy! xx

“Hey, she lives!” Minho called when Lesley finally arrived at the central firepit, refreshed and desperate for some food.

“Min!” Lesley exclaimed brightly, and was surprised when Minho suddenly lunged forward and pulled her into a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. She didn’t complain though, instead laughing and hugging him back, pressing her face into his shoulder. “What’s this for?” she mumbled against his shirt. He smelled good. Damn.

Minho laughed against her. “You kidding me, Les? We just survived a night in the Maze, and you faced down a shucking _Griever_.” He pulled back to look at her, and there was a massive grin on his face. “I’m proud of you, shank.”

Knowing that the other nearby boys were staring at the uncommon display of affection, Lesley’s cheeks flushed bright red as she smiled back, her eyes shining. “You weren’t half bad either,” she teased. She shook her head. “I know that was fun, but let’s never do that again.”

Minho grinned. “A hundred times yes to that, shank.”

Newt had truly done his best to try and keep everyone away and give the now legendary survivors some space, but the blatant stares were still a little unnerving, the other Gladers shamelessly gaping at them with something akin to awe, their eyes wide. It was almost like what Lesley had experienced during her first few days in the Glade, though now she was an object of fascination for an entirely different - and perhaps more welcome - reason.

“Yo!” Frypan called, wandering over and holding out a plate of eggs, bacon and toast for Lesley. “We’ve got a Gathering in half an hour. Eat up, Les.”

“Cheers, Fry!” Lesley grinned, reluctantly disentangling herself from Minho and accepting the food as her stomach growled. “Shuck, I could eat a _horse_ right now -”

She thought she saw a flash of regret on Minho’s face as she stepped away, but it was gone before she could blink. Minho grinned at Frypan. “Took you long enough. Thought you were gonna let the shank starve.”

“Insult me again and _you’ll_ be the one starving,” Frypan grumbled, but there was no heat in his words, his face instead breaking out in a smile as he clapped Minho on the shoulder, relief obvious in his expression.

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of Newt and Thomas, the two of them walking side by side. Lesley beamed. “Thomas!” she exclaimed happily.

Thomas gave a small smile in greeting. “Hey, Les.”

Carefully balancing her breakfast plate on one hand, Lesley pulled him into a one-armed embrace. “How you feeling?”

He laughed tightly, his face slightly pale. “You really want me to answer that?”

“The Greenie’s a little green,” Newt chuckled, elbowing him in the ribs. “Tommy’s a little nervous. He thinks we’re holding his funeral this afternoon. Might not be far off; Gally’s got murder in his eyes.”

Laughing at the tease, Lesley smiled at Thomas. “Come on, sit down. The Gathering isn’t going to be that bad,” she told him, hoping to ease his mind. “What’ll happen will happen. You just sit there and shut up.”

Minho grinned. “Sound advice, shank,” he said, shaking his head. “Something tells me we’re all gonna need it.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Lesley soon discovered that it was difficult to follow her own advice.

As the last Glader crammed into the packed Council Hall, swinging the door shut behind him and sitting down, the room finally fell silent, everyone turning their eyes towards the Keepers. In the back corner, sat on a chair wedged at the conjunction of two of the Glade’s massive stone walls, was Thomas, still looking somewhat green.

Gally stepped forward, commanding everyone’s attention. “Things are changing,” he said, looking around at the other Gladers. “There’s no denying that. First, Ben gets Stung in broad daylight. And then Alby.” He pointed at Thomas. “And now our Greenie here has taken it upon himself to go into the Maze, which is a _clear_ violation of our rules here.”

“Yeah, but he saved Alby’s life,” Frypan countered.

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Did he?”

Lesley stiffened, her fists clenching. Newt tilted his head, a deep frown on his features.

“For _three_ years, we have coexisted with these things,” Gally started.

“Hey, I think the whole ‘coexisting’ thing went out the window when they started Stinging people during the day,” Lesley muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

“Hear, hear,” Jeff said.

Gally ignored both of them. “Personally,” he continued, “I just find it funny that we had complete _order_ here in the Glade - everything was the same, nothing strange happened, right up until Thomas decided to so _gallantly_ show up - Lesley, what are you hiding?” Gally snapped, seeing her expression shift. “Spit it out.”

Stricken, she glanced at Minho. After sharing a long look with Newt, both boys nodded at her. Lesley exhaled deeply. “Actually, things started happening long before Thomas even showed up here,” she admitted. She swallowed nervously. “My first week of training as a Runner, I came face to face with a Griever.”

The room erupted into chaos, the Gladers suddenly shouting questions at her, looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. Lesley could see them all rapidly putting the pieces of the puzzle together, starting from her severe breakdown mere _days_ after her Choosing. She raised her chin defiantly; yes, she had seen a Griever and lived to tell the tale. _Fear me_.

Gally stared at her. “And you _survived_?” he exclaimed incredulously, shaking his head as he folded his arms. “Shank, you’d better start talking.”

“You’re lying!” Wyck howled accusingly over the babble.

Eyes glistening with emotion, Lesley whirled around in her seat, her features flushed with rage. “Does it _look_ like I’m lying, you piece of klunk?!” she roared.

“Everyone, slim it!” Newt yelled, and the Council Hall fell quiet once more.

Her chest heaving, Lesley turned back to face the Keepers, swallowing thickly. Glancing at her nervously, Chuck gently nudged her shoulder; she gave a short nod, feeling a flicker of warmth in her heart at his fretting.

“It was a simple training exercise,” Minho told the group, turning the attention away from Lesley. “Something we do with all the Runners when they start out, looking to see if they have a good sense of direction, can use their common sense. I left Lesley alone for a few minutes, and when I went looking for her after she didn’t show, I found her facing off a Griever a few passages away.”

“You’re full of klunk,” Gally spat. “There is _no_ way -!”

“Let him finish,” Newt snapped. Gally instantly fell silent, but Lesley felt uneasy about the fuming expression on his face.

Minho shook his head. “Didn’t know what to think of it. I’d never seen one before.” He glanced across at Lesley. “But it had her backed up against a wall. Stared her down for a couple of minutes. And then when I yelled at it to get its attention, try and get it away from her, it left us alone.”

Gally spluttered. “Well? Where did it go?”

Minho pursed his lips, folding his arms. “It was moving in the general direction of the outer sections.”

“ _General direction_?” Gally repeated, his voice rising in volume. “You didn’t, I don’t know, think about maybe _following_ it?”

“Hey, I was a bit more worried about this shank here on the verge of passing out,” Minho shot back, a touch of anger to his tone as his own face turned a vague shade of red. “And no, we’re not idiots. We _did_ follow it, you slinthead. Lost it at the Blades.”

Lesley blinked in surprise; Minho had kept quiet that she had been the reason they hadn’t chased the damn creature sooner. She threw him a grateful look, and he gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement, unnoticed by everyone except Newt.

“That just adds to my point,” Gally continued, a scowl on his face. “So, yeah, you came across a Griever, but did you attack it? No. Sounds like you didn’t retaliate, which makes me think that they don’t attack unless they’re specifically provoked.” He spun around to point accusingly at Thomas. “And now, you’ve _killed_ one of them. Who knows what that might mean for us?”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” Newt asked.

Gally opened his arms, shrugging sagely as if the solution was a no-brainer. “He has to be punished.”

Sounds of protest filled the room. “Come on!” Chuck shouted, rolling his eyes.

“He killed a Griever!” Clint argued.

“Hold up, I thought the whole point of this Gathering was to discuss Thomas running into the Maze last night, not the Griever killing!” Lesley shouted above the racket, shifting as if to stand up. “Otherwise I’m gonna plonk myself down next to the Greenie there, since I goaded the shuck thing into chasing us down the closing corridor.”

Minho let out a snort, which rapidly turned into a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter. Frypan threw him a weird look.

“Sit down,” Gally snapped.

“You weren’t even there, shuckface!” Lesley yelled, anger racing through her veins like fire. Chuck and Aidan jumped on either side of her. “You have _no_ idea what it was like, how shucking _scary_ it was. We were fighting for our lives the _entire_ night -!”

“I swear to the Creators, Les, say _one_ more word out of turn and I’ll make sure you spend the afternoon in the Slammer,” Gally snapped.

Newt glanced at Lesley, the look in his eyes gently telling her to slim it, that he would get the situation under control. “Minho,” he called quietly, turning back to the group. Silence fell again. “You were there. What do you think?”

Lesley felt the knot in her chest ease, her anger fizzling at Newt’s genius. She couldn’t speak because she wasn’t a Keeper, but _Minho_ on the other hand ...

“I think, in all the time we’ve been here,” Minho said slowly, “no one’s _ever_ killed a Griever before.” He glanced at Thomas. “When I turned tail and ran, this dumb shank stayed behind with Les to help Alby.”

Gazes flicked to Lesley. She stared determinedly at Minho, her cheeks flushing in shame as guilt twisted her gut. _I ran, too_.

“Look, I don’t know if he’s brave or stupid,” Minho continued, “but whatever it is, we need more of it.” He squared his shoulders. “I say we make him a Runner.”

Thomas’s head snapped up in shock, and Lesley grinned weakly, the weight in her chest lessening; she still clearly remembered when Minho had chosen her to be a Runner. Newt’s face lit up, a smile stretching across his features as he looked around at the other Gladers, all of whom were spluttering their various opinions at the nomination.

“A _Runner_?” Frypan exclaimed. “What? Minho, let’s not jump the gun, here -”

“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas!” Chuck began to chant excitedly, clapping his hands.

Gally looked absolutely livid. “You all wanna throw the newbie a parade, that’s fine!” he shouted angrily. “Go ahead! But if there is _one_ thing that I know about the Maze, it is that you do _not_ disrespect it!”

Lesley was on her feet before she was even aware of what she was doing. Chuck tugged nervously on her wrist, but she ignored him.

The room fell tensely silent at the hardened look on her face, her eyes blazing.

“Are you saying,” she bit out through gritted teeth, her voice deadly quiet, “that we broke some shuck rule for _surviving_? That maybe we _shouldn’t_ have made it through the night because we didn’t get back to the Glade before those Doors shut like we were supposed to?”

Minho’s jaw tightened; Newt sucked in a sharp breath.

Gally looked gobsmacked, the anger rapidly melting off his face as a pained look appeared in his eyes. He shook his head fervently. “No, _no_ , Les, I -”

Everyone went rigid as there was the sudden, thundering blast of a foghorn, followed by a blaring alarm that wailed across the Glade.

Newt and Gally looked at each other, brows creasing in confusion, and then the two of them ran up the stairs and out the door, Lesley right on their heels as the other Gladers surged towards the entrance behind them, everyone shoving to be the first out the door.

Outside, Lesley felt a hand on her arm, holding her back. She spun around to see Thomas trying to catch up to her, a look of dawning recognition on his face. “Wait, I know that sound ...” he started.

“The Box, it’s coming up!” Chuck shouted, his eyes wide.

“It shouldn’t be!” Minho exclaimed, racing past them.

“Wait, what?” Thomas stuttered, brow creasing in confusion.

“Newbie alarm; it’s not supposed to happen for another three weeks!” Lesley told him, her eyes wide as she tugged her arm away and chased after Minho, all of them joining the Gladers now crowding around the Box as Gally opened the gates and Newt jumped down into the cage.

“Newt, what do you see?” Frypan shouted.

“Do you see it?” another Glader asked.

“Hey, Les, can you give me a hand down here?” Newt called out above the noise, his voice sounding weirdly strangled.

“Yeah, sure, what do you need?” Lesley asked, pushing her way through to the front of the crowd. Finally reaching the edge of the Box, her eyes suddenly widened as she saw what everyone was staring at, the air whooshing out of her lungs. “Holy shuck. It’s ...”

“It’s a girl. _Another_ one,” Newt uttered in shock, finally looking up and meeting Lesley’s eyes. He swallowed hard, his face pale. “But ... I think she’s dead.”

The newest arrival was lying unmoving in the middle of the Box. Her long hair was dark, her freckled skin pale; she wore jeans and a white jacket with a blue shirt beneath. There were exclamations of shock from the Gladers, everyone leaning closer as they began to whisper amongst themselves.

Lesley nimbly yet carefully hopped down into the metal cage, Thomas stepping forward to take her space in the crowd of Gladers, all of them jostling for a better view. She tried not to think of the terrifying last time she had been in the Box on First Day.

Newt cleared his throat as Lesley knelt down beside him. “Uh, would you mind checking if she’s bloody ... you know ...”

Lesley nodded and bent down, hesitantly pressing her ear to the girl’s chest and mentally apologising for being in her personal space.

_Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump._

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lesley sat back up. She glanced at Newt; he was staring at her expectantly. “She’s alive,” she told him. “Must be in a coma or something.”

The watching Gladers shifted at the new information, glancing at one another uneasily.

“What’s in her hand?” Gally suddenly asked from above.

Peering closer, Lesley saw that there was a white piece of something screwed up tightly in her fist. She glanced at Newt for permission, and when he nodded, she reached forward and carefully unfurled the girl’s fingers, prying the item from her grasp.

“It’s a note,” Lesley murmured curiously, unfolding the piece of paper and passing it to Newt, the two of them reading the ominous words scrawled in black marker:

_**SHE’S THE LAST ONE**  
_ **_ EVER_ **

“ _She’s the last one, ever_ ,” Newt read out for everyone who couldn’t see the slip of paper. He looked up at the surrounding Gladers before his gaze shifted to Lesley, his brow creasing in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the girl on the floor, her eyes flying open, and Newt and Lesley accidentally scrambled backwards into each other as the rest of the onlookers jumped back in shock.

The girl’s chest suddenly rising and falling rapidly as she gasped for air, she stared fixedly at the group of boys staring down at her with wide yet somehow unseeing eyes. “Thomas,” she choked out.

A moment later, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell silent, her breathing slowing as she slipped back into unconsciousness. Everyone turned to look at Thomas, who had an expression of clear shock and confusion on his features. He gulped audibly.

Lesley hesitantly reached out and shook the girl, but she didn’t stir. She swallowed. “What the hell?”

Gally’s jaw clenched as he glanced at the other Gladers. “Still think I’m overreacting?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minho and Lesley hugs are everything asdfhkljg I love these two and the bond they share.
> 
> I was flat out laughing the whole time writing the Gathering with Lesley's little snide comments at what Gally was saying. It was a great opportunity to expand on some of the lines, like Gally talking without really thinking. (You can totally see Lesley saying "You weren't in the maze overnight, therefore no opinion from you" haha) The line about "maybe we shouldn't have survived" is one of my favourites in this whole fic. Also Minho laughing and trying to hide it with coughing! He's not gonna forget the pea-brain insult for a while.
> 
> And introducing Teresa!! Yes, we are finally there after 93 pages of text (I knoooow! Can hardly believe it either. Super proud!) Klunk is about to hit the fan even more for the Gladers! Stay tuned for more adventures. Will she wake up? What does the note mean? Who knows, certainly not I ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading another chapter! Feel free to leave you thoughts down in the comments, and as always, kudos is greatly appreciated! xx


	24. Splinters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cracks start to form in the Glade, the mysterious girl remains unconscious, and Lesley and the boys return to the Maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you all. Enjoy!! xx

With the help of Minho, Gally and Clint, Lesley and Newt managed to lift the girl out of the Box without a scratch on her, the Gladers employing the use of rope pulleys to raise her the eight feet needed to reach the Glade. After that, the boys carted her off to the Med-jacks’ hut, Jeff running ahead to make sure they had a cot set up for their newest arrival, as well as any medicine they might need.

The excitement apparently over for the moment, the Gladers began to drift away to complete their chores; Newt had blatantly informed them that the Gathering was being held off while the Keepers discussed what had just happened. Two hours passed; Frypan made lunch, and the Gladers went back to doing their own thing.

The most alarming thing that weighed on everyone’s minds was that the Box still had yet to descend back into the dark pit from which it rose.

Finally deciding to go and find Newt or Minho, Lesley left the Homestead, a worried frown on her features. Just as she started making her way across the Glade, Gally grabbed her arm. “Hey, Les, wait.”

She spun around, her expression hard. “ _What_ , Gally?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Last night was awful,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “Everyone was a mess; I’ve never seen anything like it, and the Maze has taken people before. Half the Gladers slept in front of the Doors, waiting for sunrise. Newt was devastated; Chuck was bawling his eyes out -”

Lesley stiffened at the mentioned of her two friends, her frown deepening. “Why are you telling me all this? If you’re happy we’re alive, you’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she snapped. “What was the deal with the hug, then? Moment of weakness, huh?”

He swallowed thickly, looking ashamed. “What I - what I said ... I didn’t mean it in the way you thought, okay? The Maze is just something that is outside of our control -”

But his words back at the Council Hall had cut deep.

“You know that we need to trust each other if we’re gonna survive this, even with all our shucking rules,” Lesley said quietly, her tone slightly sharp. From the look in Gally’s eyes, he could see the hurt that flitted across her expression as she shook her head. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Lesley pulled her arm free and left him standing there, not even pausing to look back at him. She changed direction halfway to the Deadheads, instead walking towards the Med-jacks’ hut when she saw Newt, Minho and Thomas heading there. She arrived at the same time as them, slipping in through the doorway behind the boys.

Her gaze swept the simple yet homely shack. The cots they had used earlier had been tidied up, the blankets folded. The curtain at the end of the room had been pulled aside to reveal Alby, panting heavily with his eyes tightly screwed shut, blackened veins running across his torso; Clint was tending to him, wiping a rag across his forehead. On the other side of the room lay their newest arrival.

“Jeff, what’s goin’ on?” Newt demanded, immediately striding over to where the Med-jack stood over the unconscious girl, curled up on one of the beds. “What’s the matter with her? Why won’t she wake up?”

Jeff shook his head in resignation at the barrage of questions. “Hey, man, I got my job the same way you did.”

Thomas shifted beside Lesley, still staring at the girl. Something flickered in his gaze.

Newt turned to look at him over his shoulder, catching the odd look on his features. “Do you recognise her?” he asked sharply.

Thomas shook his head. “No.”

Lesley narrowed her eyes. He’d taken slightly too long to answer that one.

Newt apparently thought the same thing. “Really?” he pressed in disbelief. “Because she seemed to recognise you.”

“What about the note?” Lesley asked. Thomas threw her a grateful look.

“We’ll worry about the note later,” Newt said, his voice softening a touch.

“Hate to say it, but I think we should worry about it now,” Lesley told him, jabbing a thumb at the door. “That Box out there ain’t moving. What if she’s the last of _everything_?”

Newt’s jaw tightened. “We’ve got enough to deal with at the moment.” His tone was final.

Lesley winced. With Alby suddenly out of commission, the Glade’s second-in-command had taken on the rest of his responsibilities; as much as she wanted to snap back, she held her tongue. Newt was under an immense amount of stress.

“She’s right, Newt,” Jeff interjected quietly, and everyone turned to look at him. “If the Box isn’t coming back up, how long do you think we can last?”

Newt shook his head, an exasperated laugh escaping his mouth. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. We’ll just ... we’ll just wait until she wakes up and see what she knows.” He folded his arms. “Somebody’s gotta have some answers around here.”

Lesley’s brow creased. “Or some _thing_ ,” she murmured, spinning on her heels and walking away.

“Huh, Les?” Minho asked. “Les!”

But she was already out the door.

Thomas stared after Lesley with an expression of dawning comprehension. “Okay,” he told Newt, turning around and following her.

Newt was dumbfounded. “Where are you going, then?” he asked, staring after him.

“Back into the Maze,” Thomas called over his shoulder. “Lesley knows!”

_Ah. There it was._

Newt rolled his eyes incredulously at Minho, and with a brisk nod the Keeper jogged out of the Med-jack’s hut after the two of them. “Lesley, get your shank ass back here!” he called, seeing her halfway to the Doors already. “Hey, hey, Thomas, hey!”

Picking up speed, Minho managed to cut in front of Thomas, roughly pressing a hand to his chest to bring him to a stop. “What is this with you, huh? A death wish?”

Lesley finally reached them. “What’s up, Min?” she asked, dangerously casual.

Minho raised his eyebrows, looking between them. “ _What’s up_? You guys just got out and now you want back in? Especially _you_ , Thomas. You’re not even a Runner.”

“Yet,” Lesley added with a smirk. “Choosing’s next week. Who knows?”

Thomas licked his lips, deciding to ignore her comment. “Newt said that no one’s ever seen a Griever and lived to tell about it, right? Well, except you guys,” he added. “Minho, now we _have_ one. You’re telling me you’re not even a little bit curious?”

Minho stared at him as if he had grown two heads. “Not really, no.”

Thomas turned to Lesley. “You, Les?”

Lesley grimaced. “After the last two encounters, I’m not really that keen to get close to a Griever again,” she told him honestly.

“But?” Thomas pressed, noticing the clench of her jaw.

Lesley met his eyes again. “But ... it may give us an answer.” She shook her head, rubbing at her chin anxiously. “I think that Maze is hiding something. I was just gonna head for the Blades, but an actual Griever is our next best option.”

Minho nodded slowly in thought before turning his sharp gaze back to Thomas. “So, what’s the plan? You’re gonna go out and dissect that thing all by yourself?”

“I will if I have to,” Thomas replied firmly. “Have the other Runners left yet?”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “The other Runners quit this morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Lesley followed his gaze, looking across the Glade, and saw the other Runners gathered near the Homestead, including Chad. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, her tone suddenly hard. “I’d say that’s a pretty big issue, don’t you?”

Minho’s expression turned apologetic. “Was gonna tell you after the Gathering, but that plan turned to klunk, didn’t it?” he said, letting out a humourless laugh. “They came and talked to me as soon as I left the Med-jack’s hut. After Alby got stung, they’re not in any hurry to get back out there.”

Nodding slowly in understanding, Lesley turned to Thomas, her brow creasing as she tilted her head. “So, why are _you_?” she asked curiously.

Thomas’s expression turned determined. “I think it’s time we find out what we’re really up against.”

Lesley and Minho shared a long look, and finally the Keeper nodded. “Alright,” Minho told him. “But you’re not going back out there alone. I can tell Lesley’s itching to get back out there, for one.”

Lesley frowned. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

Minho gave a short nod. “Meet me in the woods in half an hour,” he told them cryptically.

With that, he walked off towards the main Homestead.

Lesley pulled at Thomas’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk while we wait.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

A half hour later, Lesley and Thomas were waiting outside the Map Room for Minho, the two of them leaning against the outer walls of the hut with forced ease; Thomas’s posture was tight, anxious. Soon enough, there was the light sound of footsteps and Minho jogged into view from around the side of the shack, jerking his head upwards in greeting. Frypan, Winston and Zart were following behind him.

It was then that Lesley understood. These were the Gladers - and, more importantly, the Keepers - that Minho trusted indefinitely, and by extension, so did she.

As much as she tried to ignore it, there was an unmistakeable rift forming in the Glade. There were those on Gally’s side, who blamed Thomas for all the strange things that had happened after his arrival; everyone else was of a similar state of opinion to Lesley, believing that Thomas was just as innocent as he appeared and truly had no idea what was going on, much like the rest of them.

All of the boys came to a stop. “Will this be enough?” Minho asked, unexpectedly looking to Thomas for leadership; there was a quiet strength to their Greenie, an authority that had not gone unnoticed that night in the Maze.

Lesley’s eyes widened as Chuck suddenly stepped forward from where he had been hiding behind Zart. “What’s the kid doing here?”

Minho shrugged, nonplussed. “He wanted to come.”

She opened her mouth to protest when Chuck piped up, “This kid can _hear_ you.”

Lesley really looked at him then, at the stubborn set of his brow, and her resolve wavered at the firm look of determination on his face. She felt a surge of pride for this boy who had klunked himself on his First Day, and was now prepared to run headlong into the Maze.

“None of us are kids anymore,” Minho reminded her quietly.

Lesley nodded. Hell, she had considered herself a kid when she had come up in the Box. But she had grown up, and seen and heard and _felt_ things that had forced her to mature within an incredibly short space of time. Because there were no adults here, no one to help shoulder the burden but the teenagers around her.

“Welcome aboard, Chuckie,” she said finally, and Chuck beamed back at her.

Thomas stared. “You guys all know what we’re doing here, right?” he asked disbelievingly, making eye contact with each of the Gladers.

“Minho and Les trust you,” Winston spoke up firmly. “That’s good enough for me.”

Thomas looked across at Minho and Lesley for confirmation, and both of them nodded. He exhaled deeply. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They jogged out of the Deadheads, and from there they picked up the pace, hoping not to draw attention to themselves as they quickly crossed the Glade. Not pausing to think about it, Lesley ran straight into the Maze with Minho at her side, the two of them flanked by the other Gladers. The instant chill of the labyrinth made her shiver.

There was the sudden skidding of footsteps. All of them slowed and turned around to see Chuck standing at the brink of the Maze, a look of terror on his face that he was trying desperately to hide.

“Chuck, you okay?” Thomas asked worriedly, stepping towards him. Lesley joined him, her heart clenching.

Chuck nervously ran his chubby fingers through his short curly hair. Unable to help herself, Lesley reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. Chuck had never known his mother, and she desperately hoped that this kind of comfort would help him in some way. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re braver than half those shanks out there just for making it this far.”

“I tried,” came a quiet sniffle, muffled by her shirt so that only Lesley and Thomas could hear.

“We know.” Her gaze drifting across the Glade, an idea suddenly came to Lesley. A few moments later, she threw a pointed look at Thomas. “We could use a lookout,” she said, reluctantly pulling away from Chuck.

Thomas’s eyes lit up in understanding as he put a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “You know what?” he said quietly. “Les and I need you to stay here anyway. We want you to keep guard, make sure no one knows we’re gone.”

“Especially Gally,” Lesley smirked, unashamed by her own spite; she was still quietly seething at his earlier comments. She looked at Chuck and raised her eyebrows. “You reckon you can do that for us, shank?”

Chuck finally smiled, throwing her a salute. “Good that.”

Thomas nodded. “Alright? We’ll be back,” he promised.

Chuck nodded, and with one final clap on the shoulder from Thomas and a hair ruffle from Lesley, the group of Gladers ran into the Maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Glade society is unbelievably fragile. It's already starting to fall apart, what with the mysterious girl signaling an ending of sorts and the rift forming between the Gladers. Routine is completely out of the question now; things are changing and everyone is feeling a tad unsettled. I feel really sorry for Newt, having to deal with all that at once. I feel like there's going to be repercussions further down the line ...
> 
> I'm really enjoying the tension between Gally and Lesley at the moment! She's torn because he's her friend, but he's saying things that she just can't agree with, things that make her wonder where her friend is disappearing to because this isn't the boy she knows.
> 
> I included the deleted scene with Chuck because it's one of my favourites! He's so brave and I just adore him for how he just wanted to try. As Lesley said, he's brave for making it that far. I also love that everyone is starting to naturally look to Thomas for leadership!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated :) xx


	25. Ulterior Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho gets his hands dirty, the Keepers meet, and Thomas finds himself Chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating 100 pages of uploaded content, whoo!! Super proud of that!

The Griever was crushed between the two slabs of stone.

Zart wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting,” he commented.

Lesley stared at the sight with her arms folded, trying hard not to shudder. The Maze was undeniably less threatening during the daytime, but she was still uncharacteristically nervous in her home territory. She kept looking over her shoulder for creatures that weren’t there, jumping at the slightest sounds like distant bird calls - or even someone’s voice when she got lost in her thoughts - during their hour-long trek to find the dead Griever. Minho grabbed her wrist gently at one point, a similar look of unease clouding his own features. Her heart fluttered anxiously, and she was grateful for the company of the boys around her; if she had been alone, a panic attack would have been imminent.

The previous night was still frighteningly vivid in Lesley’s mind. Far, _far_ too vivid. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the snarling jaws of the Griever, screeching as it gave chase, heard the sharp click-clack of its movements, saw the flashes of red in the blackness -

Wait. That wasn’t right.

Hauled back to reality, she peered closer, abruptly noticing what her subconscious already had. “You guys see that? The blinking red light?”

In the dark crevice between the two walls there was a solid, tiny flashing dot, turning on and off intermittently even as she stared at it. Pressing closer to her to get a better look, Thomas squinted his eyes. “There’s something in there,” he realised.

Frypan raised his eyebrows. “You mean, _besides_ a Griever pancake?”

Lesley slowly started forward but was gently pushed aside by Minho, the Keeper stepping towards the wall. “Let me,” he said quietly.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Zart exclaimed. “Woah, what are you doing?”

Saying nothing, Minho took one look at him before plunging his arm into the gap between the two walls, his face a mask of concentration as he used his mind’s eye to search in the darkness.

“Should have brought a flaming torch,” Winston muttered.

Without warning, the Griever’s arm jerked.

“Woah!” Minho gasped, stumbling backwards at the same time that Lesley grabbed his shirt, hauling him away from the creature. The two of them crashed into the other boys, Minho skidding on one foot, arms windmilling in an attempt to regain his balance.

“I thought you said it was dead!” Frypan exclaimed.

Zart glanced at the Griever nervously. “Was it a reflex?”

Winston stared at him. “You _hope_.”

Lesley strained her ears. “Don’t know what you touched,” she muttered to Minho, “but you can hear that tapping sound, right?”

It was an electronic clicking noise like scuttling insects, mixed with a slight high-pitched whirr like a power-saw. It made Lesley’s skin crawl and filled her with dread; it was the same noise she had chased for hours on end within the Maze.

_Click. Click-clack. Clack. CLICK._

Minho swallowed. “I hear it.”

Thomas beckoned the rest of them forward. “Okay, come on, let’s try and pull it out,” he told them, taking charge. “Everyone get a hand on it, come on.”

They each grabbed part of the long protruding limb, all six of them grimacing at having to actually touch the Griever. The leg had a hard, slimy outer shell, covering the metal joints that Lesley could see encased beneath. She wasn’t about to tell the others, but she hoped desperately that it wasn’t the same leg that contained the needle; from the look on Minho’s face, the exact same thought was running through his own head.

“Alright, ready?” Thomas called as soon as they’d taken up positions around him. There were nods of confirmation. “On three. One, two, three!”

They yanked as hard as they could, all of them grunting and straining, feet pressed hard into the grooves on the Maze floor to keep a firm grip. Suddenly, there was the sickening ripping sound of flesh being torn apart and all of them went flying backwards, collapsing to the ground in a heap as the Griever’s leg and part of its body came free.

Staggering upright, Minho reached out a hand and grabbed Lesley’s forearm. “I gotcha, Les,” he said, helping her up.

“Thanks, Minho.”

“You okay, Fry?” Thomas asked, helping the boy get to his feet.

“Yeah,” Frypan panted. “Thanks, brother.”

Lesley stepped forward, peering into the bloody mess on the ground. “There’s the red light again,” she said quietly. Strangely, the clicking noise had stopped.

Minho moved past her, carefully stepping over the Griever’s innards. He reached down and pulled out what appeared to be a pod-like organ, and half concealed inside it was a metal canister, the end of which was the flashing light they had seen before. He held it up for them all to see, his brow creasing in clear confusion.

“What the hell?” Lesley muttered.

Grimacing, Minho grabbed the device and slid it out of the organ with a retch-inducing _sluuurp_ sound. Goop and mucus poured to the ground from the piece of flesh, some of it still coating the device. Minho held it up to the light to examine it better.

“What the hell is that?” Thomas asked.

Minho carefully turned the canister over in his hands, wiping away some of the brown slime that covered it. “Interesting,” was all he replied.

Stepping over to him, Lesley peered over his shoulder at the device, and she suddenly had to grab Minho’s arm to steady herself, her eyes wide.

_WCKD_. The letters were clearly stamped onto the side of the canister, right next to a digital red seven that was displayed on a tiny screen; impossibly, a clue.

“Shuck, where have I seen those letters before?” she asked. She felt like they had been everywhere, and yet -

“What letters?” Thomas asked quickly.

“W-C-K-D,” Minho supplied, flashing the gadget in his direction so he could see.

Thomas blinked slowly. “The boxes,” he began slowly. “All the boxes. They were with me when I arrived here.”

“He’s right,” Winston confirmed. “All the crates that come up with the Greenies have those four letters on all of ‘em.”

They all stared at one another, the puzzle pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. Lesley gulped. _Why would they want us alive if they’re hell bent on killing us?_

“Okay, whatever it is,” Frypan spoke up, sounding undeniably nervous, “can we take this up back at the Glade? Because I don’t wanna meet this guy’s friends.”

Lesley looked up at the sky, realising how long they’d been in the Maze already. “The sun’ll be setting in a few hours.”

Minho nodded. “She’s right,” he said quietly. “It’s getting late. Come on.” He looked over at Lesley, passing her the gadget to put in her belt. “Les, take the lead.”

She nodded and instantly set off down the shaded passageway, comforted by the sound of the footsteps on her heels as they ran and ran, leaving the twisted remains of the Griever far behind them.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Guys, guys!”

As the group ran back into the Glade a good forty-five minutes later, each heaving a sigh of relief to be back, all of them turned around to see Chuck leaning against the wall next to the Doors, twisting his fingers anxiously in his shirt. He pushed off and hurried towards them, a worried expression on his face.

“Gally found out you guys left,” he said hurriedly. “He called a meeting of the Keepers.” He pointed across the Glade. “Everyone’s at Council Hall.”

Lesley spun around to look, seeing the others doing the same, and saw the large crowd of Gladers standing, sitting and pacing outside the structure. She shook her head. “This isn’t gonna end well.”

Minho shook his head in agreement. “Come on, let’s go,” he said.

They ran across the clearing, leaving Chuck standing near the Doors. As they neared the Council Hall, the waiting Gladers turned to stare at them, mouths dropping open as their gazes drifted over the people in the group, most of whom weren’t Runners.

They paid them no mind. A dark expression on his face, Minho burst through the door and they all filed into the Hall, Lesley and Thomas right behind the Keeper.

“Oh, nice of you to join us,” Gally spat sarcastically, jumping to his feet and going to stand beside Newt. “You boys enjoy the little field trip?”

Lesley bit back a smile that she was counted as one of the boys.

“And quit smirking, Lesley,” Gally growled. “What was it you said about all of us trusting each other? And then you go running off into the Maze without telling us?”

“Speaking of that, what the _hell_ , Gally?” Minho asked incredulously, his body shaking with anger. “You think you can call a Keeper meeting without us?”

Gally raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Last time I checked, the Greenie wasn’t a Keeper,” he said sharply. He looked pointedly at Thomas. “You mind waiting outside?”

“He stays!” Minho said forcefully. “Lesley isn’t a Keeper either and yet you apparently have no objection to her hearing the conversation.” He exhaled heavily, fighting to suppress his anger. “What’s the point of all this?” he asked more quietly.

Newt sighed. “We’ve got two hours until sundown,” he said, his voice cracking the slightest amount. “We gotta figure out what to do with Alby.”

Lesley inhaled sharply.

“You wanna Banish him?” Winston asked.

“No,” Gally said firmly. “No, no one _wants_ to Banish anyone, alright? But he’s _Stung_. We don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, we do!” Thomas exclaimed impatiently.

Gally pretended to look surprised. “You say something, newbie?”

“Let him talk,” Lesley growled, throwing Gally a withering glance.

When no one else interrupted, Thomas nodded. “Yeah, we have a choice,” he said. “We don’t have to Banish Alby.”

Gally nodded, playing along. “Right, and how’s that?”

Lesley held up the Griever device for both Newt and Gally to see, the former’s expression perking up with interest as he carefully took it. “We found this on our little _field trip_ ,” she explained spitefully, delighting in throwing the words back in Gally’s face. “Minho nearly lost his arm trying to get this sucker out, the dumb shank.”

Minho let out a quiet huff of laughter at the rib, grateful to her for attempting to ease the palpable tension in the room. Newt quietly turned the canister over in his hands, his gaze flitting across it, studiously taking in every detail of the design.

“It was inside a dead Griever,” Thomas confirmed.

Newt narrowed his eyes at the lettering on the side of the cylinder. _WCKD._ “These are the same letters we get on our supplies,” he realised.

“Yeah.” Thomas nodded in agreement. “Whoever put us in here obviously made the Grievers.” He pointed at the device. “This is the first real clue, the first _anything_ you’ve found in over three years. Right, Minho?”

“Right,” Minho confirmed.

“Newt, we gotta go back out there,” Thomas pleaded. “Who knows where this might lead us?”

Gally glanced at Newt. “You see what he’s trying to do, right?” he started. “First he breaks our rules, and then he tries to convince us to abandon them totally? The rules are the _only_ thing that have ever held us together!”

For the first time, Lesley saw the fear in Gally’s eyes, and she suddenly understood why he was such a huge enforcer of order, and what had pitted him against Thomas. Their entire fragile society was dependent on things _working_ , where there were boundaries, jobs; a routine that everyone could live by. And he was scared to lose that.

“Why _now_ are we questioning that?” Gally pressed.

Lesley drew herself up. “Because we might finally have a way to get out of this Maze!” she exclaimed. “It’s a risk, but it’ll be worth taking.”

“Shut it, Lesley,” Gally snapped harshly, and she flinched. “You haven’t even been here two months; you don’t get it.”

Minho put a hand on Lesley’s shoulder, holding firm. “She knows enough,” he told Gally, his voice dangerously quiet, “and understands more than you ever will.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Gally finally shook his head, exhaling deeply. There was a touch of desperation to his features as he looked at Newt. “If Alby were here, you know he’d agree with me,” he said, glancing at Thomas. “This shank needs to be punished.”

His expression thoughtful, Newt stood silently for a long, tense minute. Finally, he passed the Griever device back to Minho. “You’re right,” he spoke up, his voice firm. “Thomas broke the rules. One night in the pit and no food.”

Gally threw his arms up in exasperation. “Oh, come on, Newt!” he cried. “ _One_ night in the pit? Do you think _that’s_ gonna stop him from going into the Maze?”

Newt looked at him as if he were crazy. “No! And we can’t just have non-Runners running into the Maze whenever they feel like it!”

Gally stared at Newt expectantly, his brow pinching as he folded his arms.

“So let’s just make this official,” Newt announced, looking directly at Thomas. “Starting from tomorrow, you’re a Runner.”

A look of shock flitted across Thomas’s face. Lesley smiled at the victory and glanced at Minho; he nodded in clear support of Newt’s decision, a proud expression settling on his features.

Gally shook his head. “Wow.”

He stormed up the stairs and out of the Council Hall, batting away Frypan’s arm as the Cook attempted to reason with him. Another heavy, troubled silence settled in the air, and the other Keepers took that as their cue to leave.

“Thanks, Newt,” Thomas said softly, a stunned yet grateful expression on his face.

Leaning back against the support post behind him, Newt nodded silently, hoping that the decision to push Gally aside wouldn’t come back to haunt him later.

Lesley punched Thomas’s arm playfully. “Repay him by helping us get our shuck asses out of this Maze.”

Newt finally cracked a smile. “Good that.” He glanced over at Minho. “You know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hilariously, I imagined about the blinking red dot, thinking about the Griever device once they pulled it out - then I was watching the movie one night and realised that there actually was one, haha)
> 
> Thanks for reading another chapter! This one's been a little shorter than some of the others, and the next few will definitely be longer.
> 
> I honestly feel so sorry for Gally, the more I look into it. He's just trying to live a normal life (well, as close as you can in the Glade) and Thomas waltzes in threatening to upturn it all. As Lesley pointed out, not an excuse for him to be a nasty piece of work, but you can understand where he's coming from.
> 
> See you all soon with another update, here's hoping! Going to be really busy the next couple of weeks. Feel free to comment/leave kudos! xx


	26. Hidden Agendas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho reveals a secret, the Gladers find out exactly what girls are capable of, and Thomas and Lesley make a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes one of my favourite scenes!! Enjoy xx

Minho, Lesley and Thomas walked deep into the Deadheads, the dense canopy over their heads swallowing up most of the late afternoon sunlight as they moved further into the forest. Lesley smiled as they traversed the path that was all but invisible except to those who knew where to look. To everyone else except the Runners, it would have looked like a random tramping exercise involving walking past various marked trees and ducking under vines in no logical order.

“Hey, where are we going?” Thomas finally asked.

“You’ll see,” was all Minho replied.

Lesley laughed, glancing over her shoulder at Thomas. “Surprised you didn’t ask earlier. I could hear the wheels turning in your brain from all the way over here.”

“Hardy har,” Thomas muttered.

Eventually, they stumbled onto an actual path, and Lesley smiled when she saw Thomas’s mouth drop open in amazement at the large wooden hut that had appeared in front of them. “Welcome to our humble abode,” she said dramatically, seeing Minho crack as smile as he opened the door for them, ushering Lesley and Thomas inside.

Thomas stared at the walls as Minho filed into the room after him. “Les, do the honours, would you?”

Lesley nodded, stepping towards the circular table in the middle of the room. Grabbing the brown cloth that covered it, she yanked the material away in one swift motion to reveal the intricate model that she had studied for weeks. She stood back and gazed at it with pride, folding her arms.

Minho sighed heavily. “It’s the Maze,” he said, looking at Thomas. He hesitated, glancing briefly at Lesley. “All of it.”

Thomas’s gaze flicked to Minho. “What do you mean ‘all of it’?” he pressed. “I thought you were still mapping it.”

Lesley took a step towards Minho, her brow creasing. “You _told_ me that the model was still being worked on. That the patterns occasionally changed.”

Minho was silent for a long moment. “There’s nothing left to map,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I’ve run every inch of it myself. Every cycle. Every pattern.” He bowed his head. “If there was a way out, we would have found it by now.”

Lesley stared at him, a weight dropping in her stomach. “What?” she asked weakly.

Thomas stared at the Maze model in disbelief, giving the smallest shake of his head. “Why haven’t you told anyone this?”

Minho pushed himself off the table. “It was Alby’s call,” he said resignedly, starting to pace around the model. “People needed to believe we had a chance of getting out.”

Realisation struck Lesley like a bolt of lightning. “That’s why you let me run with you,” she whispered. “Why you said it wasn’t necessary for me to map my own area yet.”

Minho nodded slowly, his gaze regretful. “I’d already run it before; I didn’t think it would matter if you came with me.”

Lesley swallowed hard. “So it was all a lie. You _lied_ to me, Minho.” Her voice shook.

“Lesley -” Minho started.

“No, listen,” she snapped, anger suddenly bubbling inside her. “I put _everything_ I had into this. Spent countless, _sleepless_ nights thinking over puzzles and solutions, memorising the Maze movements; I had _so_ much to prove to everyone else.” She gestured to the walls. “I went running out there every day believing I was making a difference. That I was gonna help solve this whole thing we’d been thrown into by those shucking Creators. And now you’re just gonna tell me that that was all for nothing?”

She started for the doorway, but a gentle hand on her forearm stopped her. Minho carefully moved around so he was facing Lesley. “Yes and no,” he told her, his voice quiet. “Despair does no one any good, and neither does panic; if that was just _your_ reaction, Les, can you imagine telling those forty-something Gladers out there?” His hand moved to wrap around her wrist, his steady tone keeping her grounded as her anger slowly gave way to reason.

“And that’s why us Runners go and map the Maze _no matter what_ ,” Minho continued fiercely. “If we’d really given up, we’d turn a corner in the first corridor and hang out there for the rest of the day, or just stay in the Glade and tell the others to get lost, find their own way out.” He watched Lesley’s expression carefully. “Even though we know every route, every turn, every passage, we go into the Maze _every day_ just in case another door opens somewhere that could lead us out.” He swallowed hard. “And with all the weird klunk that’s been happening since Thomas and the girl showed up, I reckon that time is _now_. We have a real chance. Please, you just gotta trust me.”

Minho sighed, and the sudden intimate look in his eyes made Thomas feel like he was intruding. “You’re one of the best Runners here,” he told Lesley softly. “I can’t do this without you. We _need_ you if we’re gonna figure this out.”

Lesley was staggered. She’d never heard such sincere words come out of Minho’s mouth. After a minute, she exhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. But you’re still a shuck-faced slinthead.”

Minho raised his eyebrows, noting the change in her tone. “So ... we good?”

Lesley gave him a small smile. “We’re good. Just no more secrets, yeah?”

Minho smiled back at her, relief flicking across his expression as he let go of Lesley’s wrist. “Good that, shank.”

A moment later, he turned back to the Maze model and passed Thomas the Griever device. “Take a look at this,” he said, pointing. “About a year ago, we started exploring these outer sections, alright? We found these numbers printed on the walls. Sections One through Eight.”

At evenly spread points on the outer edges of the model were large stones, each with a white number painted clearly onto them. Minho glanced at Thomas. “See, the way it works is every night, when the Maze changes, it opens up a new section.”

Lesley nodded. “So, today, Section Six was open,” she told Thomas.

“Exactly,” Minho confirmed. “Tomorrow, it will be Four, then Eight, then Three. The pattern always stays the same.”

Lesley peered closely at the Griever device as Thomas ran his thumb across the tiny box screen on the side of the canister, where the single red digit was displayed. “Seven,” she murmured.

Thomas’s brow creased in thought. “What’s so special about Seven?”

Minho shrugged. “I don’t know.” He walked around the table so that he was on the other side of Lesley. “But last night, when you guys killed that Griever, Section Seven was open during the shift. I think it must be where it comes from.”

“Which could mean our way out of here,” Lesley said excitedly.

Minho nodded, the hint of a smile on his face. “Tomorrow, the three of us are gonna take a closer look.”

There was the pounding of footsteps outside. His brow furrowing, Minho hurriedly turned to face the newcomers.

They were not Runners.

“Jeff,” Lesley greeted in surprise. “Clint.”

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Minho asked sharply, stepping in front of the model and partially obscuring it from Med-jacks’ view. “You’re not allowed in here.”

Jeff was panting. “Sorry, it’s just the, um -”

“It’s the girl,” Clint gasped.

Thomas started. “What? Is she awake?”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “You could say that.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

They ran out of the Deadheads and towards the centre of the Glade where Chuck was standing, observing. As they moved out of the trees, the sounds of yelling and clanging reached their ears. Lesley glanced up at the sky in surprise; time always seemed to pass faster in the Map Room, what with being unable to see the passing daylight. The clouds were already starting to change colour with the setting sun.

Thomas skidded to a halt beside their youngest Glader. “Chuck, what’s going on?”

Chuck pointed, a massive grin on his face. “Girls are _awesome_.”

Lesley took one look at the scene in front of them and suddenly doubled over laughing, reaching out and high-fiving Chuck.

“Leave me alone!” the girl shrieked. She was perched on top of the Outpost, throwing various rocks and pieces of wood down on the Gladers gathered at the base of the structure. The boys were clearly - and valiantly - trying to convince her to come down.

“Watch your head!” Frypan yelled over the clamour. The boys were all standing beneath barrels, trays, bits of wooden crates; anything to protect themselves.

“Hey!” Gally roared. “Throw _one_ more of those things -!”

A rock slammed down on Gally’s head and he let out an enraged yell.

“Ooh-hoo-hoo!” Lesley howled gleefully, unable to stop herself grinning as she rushed over with Thomas and Minho to join the other Gladers.

“Shut up, Lesley!”

Another object came soaring downwards. “Go away!”

“We come in peace!” one of the boys yelled.

Thomas’s mouth fell open at the sheer chaos caused by just _one_ girl. “What happened?”

“Just duck!” Winston told him sensibly.

“I don’t think she likes us very much,” Newt laughed, finally taking shelter under a wooden crate lid.

“What do you want from me?” the girl screeched at them, sending another rock flying.

“Hey, look, we just wanna talk!” Thomas shouted back.

“I’m warning you -!”

“Hey, I’m a girl too!” Lesley yelled above the noise. The other boys fell quiet. “Was kinda glad I might finally have some proper company!”

A dark head of hair peered over the top of the outpost.

Lesley smiled, sensing Minho and Thomas relaxing beside her; Newt gave her a nod of encouragement. “Now, we’re not gonna hurt you,” she called up. “My name’s Lesley, alright? Me and these ugly shanks just wanna talk -”

Newt barked out a laugh. “ _Ugly_?”

Another rock suddenly sailed down. “YOU’RE JUST LIKE THEM!”

“Nice try, Les,” Minho grinned.

“Ooh, take cover, y’all!” Frypan yelped, ducking away with his arms thrown over his head for protection. “Take cover!”

As several more rocks rained down on them, Thomas winced, one scraping his shoulder. “Whoa, hey, hey, hey! Hey, it’s Thomas!” he yelled out to the girl, arms flailing to protect himself from the barrage. “It’s Thomas!”

She peeked over the edge of the lookout again, eyes narrowed suspiciously. The Gladers went silent, all of them looking between the two of them.

Thomas hesitantly raised a hand, letting her know who had spoken. “Alright, I’m gonna come up, okay?”

Her head disappeared, but no other objects were thrown; an unofficial peace treaty.

“Okay,” Thomas said weakly, surprised that it had worked. “Okay. Just me,” he added as Gally started forward at the same time, still clutching the side of his head. He paused. “Me and Lesley,” he amended. “I think I’m gonna need some girl support.”

Smiling to herself, Lesley nodded, not quite able to hide her mirth. She shrugged at Gally’s mutinous look. “I’m not keen on a concussion; I’m following the Greenie’s lead on this one if it means a truce.” She paused. “Suppose he’s not the Greenie any more. Shame.”

Chuck swore under his breath. “Typical,” he muttered.

Minho chuckled, giving Lesley a shove. “Get outta here, shank.”

Thomas reached the bottom of the Outpost and started climbing. “I’m coming up!” he called to the new girl.

Following after him, Lesley glanced back at the group and caught Minho’s eye again, the Runner grinning in clear amusement. He lifted his fingers in a mock salute, making Lesley grin as she focused on climbing the rickety ladders towards the top of the lookout, which Thomas had already reached. He was waiting for her.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” he muttered. Exhaling deeply, Thomas lifted the hatch and pushed himself upwards, only to be met by a two foot long machete staring him straight in the face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Thomas garbled, frantically throwing his arms up in surrender. “I - okay, just ... easy, alright?”

The girl was sitting curled up in the corner of the Outpost, staring at him, her hand shaking around the hilt of the blade.

“What’s going on?” Lesley called up, hands resting on her hips, her foot tapping.

The newbie’s eyes darted to where her voice had come from. Thomas nimbly lifted himself up onto the platform, crouching as Lesley popped her upper body through the hatchway. She started when she saw the weapon, her eyes widening.

“It’s okay,” Thomas promised her. He turned to the new girl. “Let’s just - just take a deep breath. You can trust my friend here.”

Her grip tightened around the blade’s handle. “Where am I?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “What is this place? Why can’t I remember anything?”

“This - this is all normal,” Thomas told her gently, his voice trembling. “Okay? We’ve all been through this.”

Lesley cleared her throat, trying to remember what Newt had told her on her own First Day, the words that had calmed her down. “I know it’s scary not knowing anything, but your name’ll come back to you in a couple of days,” she said, throwing a kind smile at the new girl.

Thomas nodded fervently in confirmation. “It’s the one thing that -”

“Teresa.”

Lesley blinked. “Huh?”

Thomas stared at her, his jaw slackening. “What did you just say?” he asked quietly, amazement colouring his voice.

“My name,” the girl mumbled, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “It’s Teresa.”

The silence stretched between them. Lesley scratched her chin thoughtfully; as far as she knew, no one else had arrived in the Glade with the knowledge Teresa had been granted. However, she had been unconscious for several hours already, and Lesley herself had known her own name before the welcoming bonfire was over.

“Good that,” Lesley finally smiled. “Like I said before, I’m Lesley.”

She nudged Thomas in the ribs when he continue to gape. Jolting to alertness, Thomas licked his lips nervously. “Teresa, I’m - I’m Thomas.” He let out a short laugh. “But you already knew that though, I guess, huh?”

Teresa’s frown deepened as she stared at him. “They said I kept saying your name in my sleep,” she muttered, cheeks flushing lightly. “Why?”

Thomas looked at her for a long moment, trying to find the right words; when he looked to Lesley for encouragement, she could see the pain and unease flickering in his dark eyes. “I-I can’t remember. Okay? None of us - none of us here can remember _anything_ -”

Lesley put a hand on his arm, hoping to soothe his anxiety. “We all woke up here just like you did,” she explained to Teresa. “Woke up surrounded by strangers, unable to remember who we were or where we’d come from.”

Something in Teresa’s eyes flickered.

“Okay? We promise we’re telling the truth,” Thomas said pleadingly. He slowly reached out towards the machete, his hand shaking. “I’m gonna - I’m gonna take this.”

As his fingers wrapped around the blade, Teresa’s grip hesitantly loosened. Thomas took the weapon back and passed it to Lesley, who slid it into her belt. “Okay,” he said, letting out a massive sigh of relief.

There was something strangely curious about the way Thomas and Teresa looked at one another, and Lesley fought to keep her observations subtle; it was like somewhere in the depths of each of their memories, they knew each other before all of this, as if they already shared a connection.

She had even asked Minho the same question all that time ago. It was a feeling she hadn’t been able to explain, and perhaps - for the moment - it was for the best.

“You’ll be alright, Teresa,” Lesley said. “The first day is always the hardest.” She glanced at Thomas. “Trust me, we all know.”

“What’s going on up there?” Gally called up, his tone annoyed.

Thomas started; he’d forgotten about the other boys. “Uh -”

Laughing quietly, Lesley clapped Thomas on the shoulder; she had a feeling that Teresa just wanted to talk to Thomas. “That’s my cue,” she said with a wink. “I’ll keep them occupied.” She nodded at the new girl. “Teresa.”

“Thanks, Les,” Thomas said as she clambered down.

“Don’t mention it,” Lesley smiled over her shoulder. A few seconds later, she was back on solid ground, nimbly swinging off the Outpost with knees bent to absorb the impact.

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he pressed as she stepped over to rejoin them.

“I think this is gonna take some time,” she told them, a small smirk on her face. “Doesn’t trust you shanks at all. Looks like Teresa -”

“Wait, who now?” Frypan interrupted.

Lesley shrugged, ignoring the astonished stares of the other boys. “She remembers her name, lucky for some. Anyway, it looks like _Teresa_ just wants to talk to Thomas at the moment.”

As if he’d heard his name, Thomas’s head reappeared over the edge of the outpost, and Newt craned his neck, looking at him. “Is she coming down?” he called up.

“Um ...” Thomas hesitated, glancing behind him in Teresa’s direction. “Hey, listen, you guys just give us a second, okay?”

Newt raised his eyebrows but nodded all the same. “Alright,” he called to the Gladers still standing around ogling at the scene. He began to move away, beckoning for the others to follow. “Come on.”

“Man, is this what all girls are like?” Frypan muttered. “Lesley was halfway to the Doors by the time Alby had even said _hello_ , and now _this_ girl ...”

Lesley laughed, playfully punching his shoulder. “I gotta say, you shanks are scary as hell,” she grinned.

“That girl is crazy,” Zart muttered as he headed towards the gardens. Nearby, Minho and Chuck exchanged an apprehensive look.

As the crowd began to disperse, Lesley ended up walking alongside Newt and Frypan across the Glade. The Cook elbowed her playfully in the ribs. “Hey, you never actually told us what that was like, being the first girl up.”

Lesley laughed, shoving his shoulder. “There’s not much to tell. Woke up in a dark box, then the gates opened and there were all your ugly mugs staring down at me. Shucking scared me half to death.”

“Man, no wonder you ran so fast,” Frypan laughed.

Newt shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s the _second_ time you’ve used that bloody word in the last ten minutes. I’m sensing a pattern here.”

Lesley rolled her eyes. “Oh, go plow a field and make yourself useful.”

“What, with my ugly mug?” Newt teased. “I’m flattered.”

Lesley snorted. “Yeah, because if I actually told someone they had a nice face, I’d never hear the end of it from the rest of you shanks.”

Frypan chortled with glee, a grin splitting his face.

Newt raised his eyebrows, his features alight with mischief. “So now you’re saying I _do_ have a nice face? Or does someone else? Maybe ... hmm, I don’t know ...” He smirked wickedly, “perhaps a certain _Minho_?”

“I stand corrected. Go plow a field with that _bloody_ horrendous klunk for a face you’ve got there.”

As she suddenly took off towards the Map Room, Newt couldn’t hold back any longer and suddenly doubled over laughing. “You slinthead!” he yelled cheerfully after her. “I might just lock your shank ass in the bloody Slammer!”

Grinning widely over her shoulder, Lesley pulled the finger at him and disappeared into the Deadheads.

“She’s worse than us,” Frypan chuckled, his hands on his hips. “ _Damn_ , that was one hell of a comeback.”

“Too much bloody time with Minho, I reckon,” Newt snorted.

Frypan shrugged congenially. “Nice to see her happy, though.”

Newt shook his head, smiling fondly. “She’s really one of us now, isn’t she?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading back over Minho and Lesley's conversation during her induction (chapter 8), you can see the way Minho vaguely answered some of Lesley's questions, skimming over them as if he were - hmm - wanting to avoid telling her something. So that was it; I think that was kinda cool of him. He's trying to keep his Runners motivated. It also comes back to what Newt told Lesley back in the graveyard, that this was bigger than all of them. They had to put the other Gladers first.
> 
> We're diving headfirst into movie plot now!! Things are really picking up. I love that scene with Teresa throwing rocks at the boys so much, it's one of my absolute favourites. (Especially Fry's "TAKE COVER, Y'ALL!") And there's Lesley trying to talk some sense into her but Teresa is having none of it haha.
> 
> Also that "plough the field" line is one of my other favourites. Love the Glader banter!
> 
> Feel free to leave comments/kudos! Thanks so much for the love on my other fics so far :) might not be uploading as much now, work is really busy, but I've got a few chapters sitting ready to go thankfully. Plus working on some Malec too! xx


	27. Hope and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt needs some support, the Creators send a gift, and Alby wakes from the dead to attack Thomas (because who else hasn't, let's be real).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious LotR reference in the title there! Watch me make fandom references in every single chapter, bonus points if you spot them (lemme know in the comments haha)  
> Anyway, onwards with a new chapter - enjoy! xx

The afternoon wore on, and soon enough night began to fall, the Doors about to close. Out in the Glade, Thomas was still up on the Outpost talking to Teresa, and the Gladers were finishing up the few tasks they had begun; the entire day had been a loss in terms of workload due to the Gathering, the arrival of their latest Greenie, and then said newbie’s return to consciousness. Some of the boys were already sporting large colourful bruises from Teresa’s well-aimed rocks; Jeff and Clint had attended to them with barely concealed grins.

It seemed unfathomable to Lesley that it had only been twenty-four hours since she had been trapped in the Maze with Thomas and Minho, and barely twelve since they had reemerged from the labyrinth, exhausted and filthy but triumphant, and Alby miraculously still alive. She honestly couldn’t wait for a proper sleep that night.

Wandering past the Homestead, Lesley continued her search for Newt; she hadn’t seen him around for the last few hours, and it deeply worried her. She’d checked everywhere; the Bloodhouse, the Box, the Deadheads, the Council Hall -

She came to an abrupt halt, realising that there was still one other place she hadn’t looked. Turning on her heel, Lesley headed in the opposite direction, her expression set in a deep, concerned frown.

Next to the door of the Med-jacks’ hut, Clint and Jeff were sitting comfortably on a pair of upturned crates, talking quietly to each other. They glanced up as Lesley approached, Jeff nodding in greeting. “Hey, Les.”

“Hey,” she smiled, her voice low. “You guys seen Newt?”

Her suspicions were confirmed when the two boys glanced at each other. Without a word, Clint jerked his thumb at the door. Nodding her thanks, Lesley soundlessly slipped inside the shack.

She was startled to hear a quiet, pained voice; Newt was sitting next to Alby’s bed with his back to the door, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair in a clear sign of distress.

“... And now half the bloody Keepers are mad at me for making Tommy a Runner. People are _scared_ , Alby,” he was saying. “Things are changing too buggin’ fast around here and I’m not sure what else to say to stop them panicking. First Ben gets Stung, then you; now this girl shows up with a doomsday note and the Box hasn’t gone back down.” He shook his head. “I thought that Les, Minho and Tommy surviving a night in the Maze would have given them all hope, but then I come back here and see _you_ -”

Lesley heart ached at the overwhelming insecurity in his voice.

Newt sniffled quietly. “You’ve been there for us through everything that has happened here, good and bad. And yet when I’m finally trusted with the responsibility you gave me, I can’t keep it together. This whole place is falling apart, and I’m not ... I can’t ...”

A shuddering pause.

“They need _you_ , Alby,” Newt whispered. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Swallowing hard, Lesley finally stepped forward. “Hey,” she said softly, putting a hand on Newt’s shoulder.

He shifted, exhaling a shuddering breath. He reached up and squeezed her fingers. “He’s getting worse,” he told her quietly, a touch of helplessness to his voice. “I gotta - _we_ gotta - prepare for - for -”

Lesley felt a surge of emotion, her heart wrenching.“You’re doing all you can,” she told him softly. “And you may not realise it, but all those Gladers out there need you, too.”

Newt laughed bitterly. “Sure.”

Lesley knelt down in front of him so he couldn’t avoid her gaze; there was an anguish in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. “I’m being serious,” she said. “We’re all scared, but it’s in times like this that we need someone to look up to. That someone is _you_ , Newt, even if you don’t realise it, or those shanks out there don’t appreciate it yet.” She shook her head. “You’ve never seen it. Alby’s in charge, but _you’re_ the glue that holds us all together. You’re the face we all remember seeing on First Day, who has always been there with words of comfort and reassurance when we needed it.”

Something flickered in Newt’s expression.

Lesley desperately hoped it was a good sign. She squeezed his hand even tighter. “We all rely on you, Newt, and we all need you. But just remember, it’s okay to share the burden, yeah? It’s _okay_ to be selfish. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Finally, Newt nodded jerkily, his bottom lip trembling fiercely, his features flushed with shame as he brushed a hand against his sore leg.

“Come on, get over here,” Lesley said, reaching out and hauling him into a fierce hug, crushing him against her.

He squeezed her back just as tightly, like he was pouring all his unsaid emotion into the embrace. He shuddered against her, and Lesley felt a damp patch steadily growing on her shoulder. She held him even closer when the first sob broke free of his lips. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her own eyes burning. “It’ll be okay.”

They stayed clutching one another like that for a long time, the world utterly still around them, the universe letting them have one moment of peace amidst the suddenly roaring chaos of the Glade. When Newt eventually loosened his hold, Lesley took that as her cue to disentangle. She held him back at arm’s length, staring at him. “We will get through this,” she told him fiercely. “ _Together_. Good that?”

There was a flicker of a smile on Newt’s face, barely noticeable but still there. “Good that,” he repeated, wiping his eyes dry.

With a crash that made them both jump, Thomas and Teresa burst through the door and shattered the quiet. Clint and Jeff trailed behind them. “We’ve got something that can save Alby,” Thomas exclaimed in a rush of words, skidding to a halt.

Newt stiffened, his eyes flickering with carefully guarded hope. “What do you mean?” he asked finally, his tone strained as if having to force the words out.

Thomas snapped out his hand. Sitting in his palm were two clear vials full of blue liquid; on the outside of both tubes was a clear inscription: _WCKD_.

Newt snatched the vials up, peering closely at them with a furrowed brow. “What the bloody hell’s this stuff?”

Thomas glanced at Teresa. “We’re not sure,” he admitted.

“I found it in my pocket when I woke up,” Teresa explained. “I’m positive it came up here with me.”

“It looks like some kind of medicine or serum,” Thomas added, his leg bouncing nervously as he eyes flicked to Alby. “That’s why we think it’s for -”

“So, let me get this straight,” Lesley interrupted, frowning. “These same people who made the Grievers and threw us in a Maze, have sent up some mysterious liquid which _may or may not_ cure Alby?”

Thomas nodded, glancing at Newt. “Look, whoever WCKD is, they’ve been sending you guys up supplies for _years_. If they really wanted you dead, they would have done it ages ago.”

Lesley bit the inside of her cheek. He did have a point.

Teresa cleared her throat, turning their attention to her. “I-I know I don’t know how things are around her, but the last thing I remember is a voice saying _WCKD is good_.” She pursed her lips. “I think this serum was sent up with me to save him.”

“We don’t even know what this stuff is,” Newt objected, gripping the vial tightly. “Apart from speculation, we really don’t know _who_ sent it or _why_ it came up with you.” He glanced at Teresa suspiciously. “For all we know, this thing could kill him.”

“Newt, you said it yourself; he’s not getting any better,” Thomas argued desperately. “He’s already dying; _look_ at him. How could this possibly make it any worse?”

Newt and Lesley glanced down at Alby. Darkened veins webbing across his torso, he let out another ragged grunt of pain, his bared teeth clenching painfully tight as sweat poured down his face.

“Come on,” Thomas pleaded. “It’s worth a try.”

Newt’s jaw tightened as Alby grunted again. “Alright,” he said quickly, as if worried he would regret the decision if given any longer to think about it. “Do it.”

Lightly putting a hand on his arm as he moved past, Thomas took the vial from Newt’s grasp and rushed to Alby’s side, bending over him. “Okay,” he muttered, steadying his hand on the autoinjector.

Alby’s eyes fluttered open at the new voice, his blackened irises focusing on Thomas. With a sudden, downright alarming look of clarity on his features, he jerked forward and seized fistfuls of Thomas’s shirt, yanking him towards him with a wild, crazed look on his face. “You shouldn’t be here,” he bit out. “He shouldn’t be here!”

Newt rushed forward, pushing Clint aside as he scrambled around Thomas. Lesley ran to the other side of the bed, pressing hard against Alby’s torso and forcing him back against the cot as Newt frantically tried to pry Thomas out of the man’s grasp.

“Watch out!” Newt yelled, finally managing to grab hold of one of Alby’s wrists only for his limbs to start flailing, snapping outwards with hands curled into fists, punches flying blindly. It was like he was possessed; it was frightening.

“Shit!” Lesley gasped, coughing as pain blossomed across her ribcage. “Where’s the vial?” she shouted at Thomas.

Thomas grunted. “Get the other syringe!” he yelled to Teresa. He glanced frantically at Newt and Lesley. “Let go!”

They all jumped backwards as Teresa lunged forward with the spare serum, plunging the needle into Alby’s chest and emptying the vial of its contents. He gasped, his eyes blowing wide, and then he went slack against the cot, falling into unconsciousness.

No one moved for a full minute, all of them panting heavily. Lesley winced as she touched her ribs, which were surely bruising already. “You guys alright?” she finally whispered, her heart still thundering in her chest.

Thomas only nodded in reply, massaging the area just below his left shoulder; it had taken a hit during Alby’s ferocious attempt to grab his shirt. Newt stared down at Alby like he suddenly didn’t recognise his friend, his face ashen.

“Well, that worked,” Jeff stated quietly.

Newt started. “Okay, from now on,” he choked out, his eyes drilling into Clint and Jeff, “ _someone_ stays here and watches him around the clock.”

There was the sound of footsteps. “Hey.”

It was Gally, standing in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, noticing the tense atmosphere. “Sundown, Greenie,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle as his gaze flicked to Thomas. “Time to go.”

Outside in the Glade, there was the thunderous sound of grinding gears and shifting stone as the Doors slammed shut for the night.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

That night, the Homestead was abuzz with conversation; most of the boys were blissfully unaware of the chaos that had occurred in the med shack, but were still eager to discuss what else had happened that day. Lesley listened to the chatter as she nestled deeper into her hammock, the rocking motion soothing her as much as the voices around her. She was overwhelmingly grateful to be back in the Glade amongst her family; her heart thrummed with contentment. Absently, she wondered how Thomas was doing.

Her gaze drifted to the Doors. It was strange to think that they had actually survived a night out there, against all odds. Barely, but still. It now felt like a distant nightmare. If she shifted her head just right, she could just see the night sky beyond the eaves of the Homestead. She stared at the constellations, thinking of how inescapable the darkness had seemed the night before, all of them waiting for that darkest hour to pass.

Things were changing; Gally had been right, and the girl hadn’t even arrived when he had spoken those words. She was worried what it all meant. _She’s the last one ever._

Lesley’s ears pricked up; she was certain she had heard her name and the word ‘pretty’ being thrown around on the far side of the shelter. She was probably being compared to the new girl. _Typical boys_. “Was that a compliment?” she called out cheekily.

“I said you have big ears, shank!”

Lesley rolled her eyes. “You’re a slinthead, Min! Winston, avenge my honour, will you?”

“It would be a pleasure, my lady!” A second later there was a dull _thwack_ and a bout of swearing and insults. Laughter ricocheted throughout the space.

“Slim it!” Gally roared.

“Yeah, ‘cause we all know you need your beauty sleep, Gal,” Zart grumbled.

Chuck huffed with laughter nearby. Grinning to herself, Lesley rolled over and settled down to sleep, almost able to forget how terrified she was for Alby. _Almost_.

She was just drifting off when she felt the blankets being pulled up over her shoulders. “Good to have you back,” Newt whispered. “Night, Les. And thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That little moment with Newt is so important to me. He spends so much time looking after everyone else to make sure they're cared for, but he's hurting on the inside. Poor Newt, he just wants his friend back. I really enjoy these scenes, like with Minho in the Maze, and now Newt. Everyone was so strong and happy when Lesley first met them all, but now their walls are being broken down, and she's getting a glimpse at the hardships that have plagued these boys over the past three years.
> 
> (Also yes, confirmed that Alby was ranting about Thomas in the Maze!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that last little scene too! Little domestic moments like that own my heart, especially imagining how Lesley must feel experiencing it after she thought she wasn't going to survive the night in the Maze. She loves those boys dearly. Even when they are insulting her. (I really miss those scenes now, there were so many moments like that at the start, but it's happened less and less following Thomas's arrival in the Glade).
> 
> Thanks for reading another chapter! Feel free to leave comments and kudos, my writer's soul really appreciates the feedback, it keeps me so motivated! xx


	28. Ghosts of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas gets distracted, the trio run the Maze, and Minho and Lesley are confronted with the fate of an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, another chapter! It's not hugely plot heavy, but for some reason it's one of my favourites. Enjoy xx

Lesley was startled awake the next morning by a hand pressing against her mouth. She looked up groggily to find Minho staring down at her, grinning. “Rise and shine, shank.”

His hand slipping away, she frowned at him. “Why so early?” she groaned, yawning as she swung her legs over the edge of the hammock.

Minho chuckled. “Thomas. But, first, breakfast.”

Breakfast was a very quiet affair, what with only the two of them and Frypan - who served them a bowl of porridge and an apple with a small smile on his face. Newt briefly came by to grab a plate of food before heading straight to the med hut; the dark shadows beneath his eyes made it clear that he hadn’t slept a wink.

“Don’t know what the bloody hell’s in that serum stuff,” he said to them, a note of clear disbelief in his voice, “but it seems to be doing the trick.”

Lesley said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek as she looked in the direction of the Slammer. Beyond the pits, on the verges of the gardens, one of the other Gladers was already up, the systematic thud of wood being cut splitting the air; it was Gally.

“Newt’ll be alright,” Minho told her quietly once he was out of earshot. “I talked to him as well. I think what happened last night just gave him a shucking good scare.”

Frypan nodded, glancing at Newt’s rapidly retreating form. “I took some food over to Clint - he volunteered for night watch on Alby,” he explained. “Newt’s right. Al doesn’t look great, but he looks a hell of a lot better than he did coming out of that Maze.”

It was a small amount of hope, but not much. Lesley truly didn’t know if she could face a second Banishing if Alby couldn’t be cured; she still had nightmares about Ben’s one, and the cavity that had been brutally carved out of her heart was still painfully raw.

A strange tension continued to linger in the air of the Glade. The severe lack of morning chatter and banter was unnerving; Lesley was relieved when they found themselves in front of the Slammer, gazing down into the pits.

The Greenie was exactly where Gally had left him the previous night. He was curled up in one of the Slammer’s cages, his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked deep in thought as he peered up at the dawning sky. Minho grinned as they knelt down above him. “Big day, Greenie,” he announced. “You sure you don’t wanna sit this one out?”

Thomas shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, man, get me out of here.”

“Alright,” Minho relented with a laugh.

Smiling, Lesley untied the rope across the catch and Minho lifted the door. Grabbing onto the edges of the pit, Thomas lithely swung himself up and landed nimbly on the grass.

Lesley blinked in surprise at the display of agility, but quickly hid it as she tossed Thomas an apple. “Was the only thing I could sneak past Gally without him seeing,” she told him apologetically. “He’s in a right mood today; he’s already up chopping wood.”

“Hey, at least it’s a tree,” Minho pointed out. “He could be smashing your face with that axe.”

Lesley snorted, and Thomas pulled a face. “Thanks?”

Minho grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he steered him towards the Deadheads, Lesley right behind them. “Let’s go.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Normally we break in the new recruits slow,” Minho told Thomas, the three Runners standing in the Map Room. “Give them a chance to get their feet wet. But, seeing as you’re pretty much already soaked, I’m thinking we’ll just dive right in, if that’s alright with you?”

Thomas nodded, tightening his straps. They had kitted him out with a Runner vest with a small pouch attached to the back, just like the one Minho wore. It strapped across his upper torso like a protective shield. “Hell yeah.”

Lesley laughed as she tightened her own belt, and Minho clapped him on the shoulder. “I like your enthusiasm,” he grinned, “but don’t get sloppy.”

Clearing his throat to signal a change of subject, the Keeper moved towards the uncovered model in the middle of the room. “Okay, listen up.” He pointed at a complicated section of corridors. “We’re gonna take this route through the Narrows til we reach Section Four, then we’re gonna run all the way to Section Seven,” he said, walking around the table; Lesley followed him with sharp eyes, tracing the invisible line his finger drew. He stopped at the rock with the number seven painted on it. “It’s a long way, Greenie.”

Lesley nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. They were going to be pushing it if they wanted to get back before sunset.

“Speed’s the name of the game,” Minho continued as if reading her mind, looking directly at Thomas. “If we’re gonna make it to the outer ring and back, we gotta keep moving - unless you want a repeat of the other night’s adventures.”

With that, he strode out the door. With one last examination of the map model as she set the plan in her mind, Lesley set off after him, hearing the soft tread of Thomas’s footsteps on her heels.

Minho turned around and frowned. “What are you doing?” he asked Thomas. “Close the door.”

Looking sheepish, Thomas dropped back and pulled the door shut. Lesley shook her head in amusement. “Last one out always closes it,” she told him. “Don’t want any of those nosy shanks taking a peek in here.”

Thomas nodded jerkily. “Okay.”

Minho waved his arm, setting off again. “Come on.”

They set off through the forest, following the hidden paths that only the Runners were familiar with. Lesley inhaled the sweet smell of the dew on the leaves, high above them in the canopy.

“Alright, Greenie,” Minho started, his expression stern as they reached the verges of the Deadheads. “You may think you know the Maze, but the Narrows are only half of it. I don’t care how many Grievers you’ve killed. The outer sections will spit you out before you even realise you’ve stepped wrong. Be alert, follow my lead, and don’t forget the number one rule: _never_ stop running.”

Thomas nodded, bracing his hands on the top of his vest.

“Good look for you.”

All three of them spun around to see Teresa sauntering out of the trees, smiling. With a brief glance at Minho, Thomas stepped towards her. “Thanks.” He shifted on his feet. “Um, how’s Alby doing?”

Lesley had forgotten Thomas hadn’t been there at breakfast.

“Still no change,” Teresa told him.

Thomas sighed heavily. “Okay. Well, let’s just keep an eye on him. Maybe don’t let Gally anywhere near him.”

Teresa laughed quietly, glancing at the ground as she bit her lower lip, and Thomas smiled bashfully back at her.

Folding his arms, Minho glanced at Lesley in clear exasperation. A grin tugged at her mouth. “Thomas and Teresa sitting in a tree,” she muttered to him.

Minho rolled his eyes. “You two need a minute?” he called pointedly.

Thomas spun around with a startled look on his face, seeming to have already forgotten their presence. Minho stomped past him. “Let’s go, we’re burning daylight!”

They emerged out of the forest and set off across the fields. Minho had been right; golden rays of light were already spilling into the Glade. The other boys were slowly getting up, and the sounds of their early morning activities filled the air as they grabbed some breakfast and set about feeding the animals. A goat bleated distantly.

With the familiar clanking of monstrous, hidden gears, the Doors began to roll open. Lesley closed her eyes briefly as the ground trembled beneath her boots, allowing the thunderous roar of the shifting stones to calm her as it always had. She shoved down the memories of the other night, forcing them to the back of her mind and taking a deep breath to steady herself as she pushed her shoulders back, chin lifting as her lids fluttered open once more. _Bring it on,_ she silently challenged the labyrinth.

Minho and Thomas stood quietly at her side. The three of them together made her feel strangely hopeful; they had conquered a night in the Maze. Despite all the odds that had been stacked against them, they had survived, and now it seemed they had a real shot at figuring out the secrets that lay within the ivy corridors.

The morning after Ben’s Banishment, Lesley remembered wondering if it was all part of a puzzle, if the numerous Griever sightings were somehow connected. After the discovery of the canister inside the dead creature, she suddenly had no doubt about it: maybe Thomas _was_ the key to it all. She glanced at the metal gadget peeking out of Minho’s pack; this was their best shot.

Finally, the world fell silent. The shrouded passages called out to her, alluring and terrifying all at once. It was enchanting in a way that Lesley had never been able to explain.

“You ready for this?” Minho asked.

Lesley let out a short laugh. “You kidding? I was _born_ to run.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Slim it, shank,” he retorted, but he was barely hiding a smile. “Wasn’t talking to you. Yo, Tomboy?”

Thomas’s attention was elsewhere, his gaze fixed on the distant med hut; Teresa’s figure could be seen watching them from the shack’s doorway. Finally, he nodded his reply, and that was all Minho needed. “Let’s go!” the Keeper called.

He sprinted off into the shadows of the Maze, Lesley close on his heels with a holler that echoed through the corridor. Thomas followed, and within seconds all three of them had vanished.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Thomas ran out of breath faster than both Minho and Lesley, his ragged pants reminding the latter just how fit she had become after months of persistently running the corridors. As they settled into a rhythm, with the Keeper taking the lead, she allowed her thoughts to wander.

Without realising it, the search for the dead Griever had done her a world of good, like getting up again after falling over, no matter the pain.It was similar to the morning after Ben’s Banishment; she had been terrified when the Doors had been about to open, wondering if there would be a body or something there waiting for her. The previous day’s trek into the labyrinth had quietly reminded her that she _knew_ this Maze. She had run it for weeks on end, with only a few minor setbacks by the Grievers. She knew the corridors, the paths, the twists and turns.

_Right, left, left, right, left, right._

In the daylight, it was harder to feel scared of the labyrinth that was now simply an extended part of her home. Where shadows had loomed in the darkness, golden rays shone across the high walls as the sun steadily rose higher; the dark ivy plants turned a glistening forest green, and the grey stone a shimmering silver.

Perhaps it was because Lesley had seen the Maze at its most terrifying worst - when she truly thought she was going to die at the jaws of a Griever - that she could now appreciate the things about it that had her falling in love with being a Runner in the first place. A bird flew overhead; Lesley could almost feel herself spreading her own inner wings.

“This way,” Minho called as they took another right and then an immediate left. “Not much further to the inner ring! Let’s go!”

The change was noticeable as they reached the outskirts of the Narrows. The Maze began to branch out, the corridors widening and the walls dropping substantially in height, the ivy giving way to harsh expanses of solid concrete.

“Come on, this way!” Minho shouted as they passed a wall with a massive red number four painted on it. There were large stretches of flat ground around them now, the heat of the concrete from the glaring sun seeping through Lesley’s boots.

They picked up the pace, running around the outer ring of the Maze just like Minho had shown them that morning. Lesley looked up every so often as the sun shifted over their heads, watching as they passed another number, a five.

The shadows on the ground shifted once again; _six ..._

Finally, Minho began to slow. Wiping the sweat from her face, Lesley tugged her canteen from her belt and took a long swig of her drink. She was just putting it away when they reached the painted red seven, and she nearly dropped her flask in shock.

Past the digit on the wall, she could see all the way to the Blades.

Lesley silently ran the sequence through her head, checking the numbers with the days; it didn’t add up. “That’s weird,” she muttered, feeling a twinge of unease as she glanced sideways at Minho; his own brow was deeply furrowed as he met her gaze.

“What?” Thomas asked, catching the look.

“Seven’s not supposed to be open for another week,” Minho told him. He jerked his head towards the entrance, and Lesley followed without hesitation, Thomas just behind.

Beyond a narrow, towering passage of mixed concrete and steel, the rusting orange pillars lay waiting, rising high above them. “What the hell is this place?” Thomas gaped, raising a hand to shield his face from the sun.

“We call them the Blades,” Minho said simply; they couldn’t explain anything in this place.

Without another word, he set off at a jog, surging deep into the Blades. Swallowing thickly, Lesley kept close behind him; although it was far from her first time here, she wasn’t as familiar with this region of the Maze as she was with the ivy corridors of the Narrows, which she could practically navigate with her eyes shut. It felt like she was in training all over again, relying solely on Minho to show her the way. He seemed to be searching for something, and she trusted his judgement more than anyone.

“What’s that?” Thomas asked, pointing to something ahead of them.

They ran closer to inspect it. On the ground was a dirty, shredded red singlet, covered in dust. As the three of them crouched down, the colour rapidly drained from Lesley’s features, realisation hitting her with sickening clarity. Beside the ripped shirt were the ragged remains of a cloth bag; a survival pack.

“Ben’s?” Thomas queried, his voice low as if scared to shatter the silence.

Minho nodded, exhaling shakily as he lifted the ragged material with his fingers, examining it. Beneath it were dark red stains of blood. “Yeah,” he confirmed weakly. “A Griever must have pulled him down here.”

Lesley’s thoughts were reeling as she staggered upright. _Ben had been dragged all the way to the Blades. Had he still been alive? Or at least mercifully been unconscious?_

Bile rising in her throat, Lesley abruptly spun around and retched, grabbing the edge of one of the towering rusting walls for support as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

“Shit, Les!” Minho gasped as he rushed over to stand beside her, his own face just as pale. He grabbed her canteen and passed it to her when she began to dry heave, lightly touching her back. “Come on, shank. Take a deep breath, have some water.”

Thomas came to stand on her other side. “You okay, Lesley?” he asked worriedly.

She nodded, taking a swig before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she uttered weakly.

Minho shook his head. “Got nothing to be sorry for, shank,” he murmured, his expression softening. His voice shook. “Was tempted for a second there, myself.”

A whirring noise suddenly pierced the air, mixed with that same electronic click-clacking sound like scuttling insects. Lesley froze, a surge of quiet terror rocketing through her veins. It was _the_ sound, the one she associated with seeing a Griever, like a warning that had been drilled into her ever since that first encounter.

But it was coming from right next to her.

“Wait,” Thomas started, staring at Minho.

Lesley’s eyes bulged in realisation. “The Griever device!” she coughed, shakily standing upright again; the Keeper’s hand remained on her back, holding her steady, and she felt a warmth rush through her at the contact.

His eyes widening, Thomas roughly grabbed Minho’s shoulder and spun him around, retrieving the gadget from the pack on his back. Crowding around, they all peered at it, their heads brushing together.

_Click. Click-clack. Clack. CLICK. Clack-click._

Staring at the device thoughtfully, his brow furrowed, Thomas rocked backwards on his feet. The noise changed, the clicking slowing down to the point it might have imitated a heartbeat. _As if they would have one,_ Lesley thought humourlessly.

Minho’s made a choked sound. “Wait, do that again!”

Thomas experimentally took a step forward, then another. The click-clacking began to rapidly increase in pace until it resembled the unsettling, low Griever scuttling noise that they were all uncomfortably familiar with.

“I think it’s showing us the way,” Thomas whispered.

Minho nodded, suddenly looking nervous. “Let’s go, then,” he said quietly. “Thomas, take the lead.”

“Wait,” Lesley called before they could leave. With visibly trembling hands, she stooped down and grabbed the tattered remains of Ben’s singlet. Folding it as small as she could, she tucked it into the small pouch at her belt.

Thomas and Minho were watching her carefully. She sighed. “He deserves to be buried back home,” she told them.

Minho nodded, his expression pained. “Good that, shank.”

He turned away, and an icy shiver ran down Lesley’s spine as she realised something for the first time, her gaze lifting skywards.

The Blades themselves resembled endless rows of grave markers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept in that deleted scene in the Map Room because let's face it, there should have been more Minho in the movie. I also really love it because you really see him being a leader, making a plan for the run that day, and I LOVE seeing him in Keeper mode haha. And, of course, there's the golden commentary with Teresa, and Minho (and Lesley) being completely done with her and Thomas.
> 
> On the subject of Ben - Lesley still has a hard time with his death, especially when the evidence is staring her in the face like that. Much like what happened with the Griever encounter, she hasn't had the chance to come to terms with it yet. It's sneaking up on her when she least expects it. However, this is going to help her in the long run, facing what happened to him and accepting it. She has to accept it before she can heal.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave comments and kudos to help keep me inspired xx see you all soon!


	29. Dead Ends and Doorways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio go on a wild goose chase, the labyrinth reveals a secret, and Gally is unbelievably stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite scenes/sequences in the movie! Enjoy xx

They followed the rhythmic clicking like a homing signal. The device led them deep into the Blades, farther than Lesley had ever ventured; judging from the frown on Minho’s face, she wondered if they were nearing the labyrinth’s perimeter.

Thomas suddenly came to a stop, raising a hand. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“What, what?” Minho asked, glancing about anxiously. Lesley looked up at the sky; it was already well past lunchtime. Her heart fluttered uneasily.

His brow furrowing, Thomas turned to his left and took a step forward. When the tempo of the click-clacking began to increase, he nodded confidently. “This way, come on.”

They continued their trek through the Blades, changing directions once or twice until they were hugging another gargantuan concrete wall. The shadows started to stretch around them.

Lesley shuddered as she stepped into the shade. “We can’t stay much longer -”

There was a low scuttling growl from the device that made her skin crawl. On their right was a low doorway with a dark tunnel beyond. With hesitant glances at one another, they stepped into the blackness, footsteps light and cautious.

Lesley couldn’t see anything for a minute as she waited for her eyes to adjust. They moved slowly; she could hear the two boys breathing heavily on either side of her.

They emerged out into a gargantuan, shaded cavernous space that half the Glade could have fit inside, and Lesley’s jaw fell open in amazement. They were standing on a wide catwalk, comfortable for perhaps eight or nine people to walk abreast. It stretched towards a jutting piece of stone across the far concrete wall; the immediate ceiling above their heads was curved. The word _WCKD_ was stamped in gargantuan white letters on the upper right side of the wall.

Somehow, Lesley couldn’t help but feel they were in the right place; a sixth sense that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Thomas craned his neck, trying to take in every detail. “Minho, you ever see this place before?” he asked. “Les?”

Minho shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Neither have I,” Lesley whispered. She peered over the edge of the walkway. It dropped away into nothing; the bottom was so black she couldn’t even see it. She shivered.

With every step forward, the scuttling noise from the device rapidly increased in tempo. Minho and Lesley kept close to Thomas in tight formation. Inevitably, they soon hit the end of the walkway; there was nothing but a stone wall. Lesley peered closer, but she couldn’t see any markings on the concrete, nor any numbers to indicate some sort of clue or a way out of the Maze.

A groan of frustration burst from Minho’s mouth. “Gah, it’s just another dead end!”

Lesley winced at the way his voice echoed in the cavernous space, the hope in her chest fizzling. She ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe - maybe we’re missing something -”

There was a jarring electronic squeal from the device. Lesley peered over Thomas’s shoulder just in time to see the red seven change to a neon green with a quiet _click_.

A thunderous groan echoed through the space that was eerily similar to the sound of the Doors opening. All three of them jumped in shock, spinning around with mouths hanging open. The stone wall behind them had started to shift upwards.

And it wasn’t the only one. As the door reached eye level, they could see a second and third door rising in a staggered pattern along a passage. On the fourth and final wall, a circular metal door as tall as they were dilated, twisting open in a star shape to reveal a gaping black hole.

Lesley sucked in a sharp breath. “What the hell?” she whispered. “Is - is this it?”

_Was this the end of the labyrinth that they had all been searching for for so long? An end that so many had died for?_

She shivered. _But ... where were the Grievers?_

Minho didn’t answer. He glanced sideways at Thomas. “You sure about this?”

Thomas gulped. “Nope.”

As one, the three Runners took one cautious step forward; Lesley felt the tension in her body like a coiled spring, waiting to explode. When nothing happened, they took another, and another, creeping along the pathway, heartbeats thundering in their throats.

Light filtered down; dust swirled in the air around them. Lesley looked up. In the gaps between the separating walls, it was like a chimney, a concrete shaft reaching colossal heights above them.

Finally, they found themselves squinting at the black hole. “It’s a tunnel,” Lesley realised, seeing the tubular corridor stretching out ahead of them.

Stepping closer, Minho brushed his fingers along the edge of the circular passage. His digits came away covered in sticky goo. “Grievers,” he whispered in horror.

Thomas shuddered. Lesley’s blood ran cold.

A sharp buzzing noise punctured the air, and all of them turned to look down the tunnel, where a blinking red light was now visible. Lesley’s leg muscles tensed in preparation to run, to sprint out of there as fast as her feet could carry her. A harsh, blinding laser swept up the tunnel from the dot of light, scanning over Thomas, Minho and Lesley once, twice, three times.

The laser abruptly flicked off and a dull tolling sound like a bell echoed around them, followed by the distant sound of shrieking metal. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

“What the hell was that?” Minho gasped, looking around.

Lesley shook her head, suddenly anxious. Her heart raced. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”

Thomas swallowed. “Oh, no.”

An alarm began to blare, loud and piercing. Minho flinched; Lesley clamped her hands down over her ears. There was a mechanical clunk in the air that was alarmingly similar to the Doors preparing to move.

“We gotta get out of here,” Minho said tightly. “Give me the key, give me the key!”

Thomas tossed him the Griever device, Minho shoving it in his pack as the three of them set off at a run. Lesley threw a glance over her shoulder at the grating sound of the metal door spiraling shut, and gaped at the sight of the three other concrete pillars bearing down on them.

“Move, move!” Thomas shouted.

Sprinting down the walkway and through the narrow tunnel at the end, they burst out into the Blades only to come crashing to a stop in horror. The gargantuan rusting pillars were _moving_ , swinging themselves around ninety degrees on their axis to form rows of walls.

“We gotta go!” Minho gasped, feet skidding in the dirt as he set off at a dead sprint. “Run, Thomas! Come on, Les; we’re gonna get trapped!”

Hot on his heels with Thomas at her side, Lesley gritted her teeth. “Go, go!”

They slipped between the walls. One path closed behind them, then another as they darted in a frantic zigzag pattern through the gaps after each other. Lesley could hardly dare breathe as she felt the scrape of metal against her shoulder, narrowly missing one of the Blades as it flipped towards her.

“Gaaaaah!” Thomas yelped, arms flailing as he nearly got swept aside.

“Go, go, go!” Minho roared. “MOVE!”

The noise around them was thunderous, clanking gears and shrieking metal as the ground thundered beneath their boots. Lesley’s body was slick with sweat as she angled herself and ploughed through the gaps, her chances dwindling with every second; the gaps shrinking -

“No!” Thomas shouted.

The gap slammed shut; he was stuck on the other side.

“Thomas!” Lesley shrieked over her shoulder. She looked about frantically, the walls still shifting. “Keep moving!”

“Go, Thomas!” Minho yelled. “Come on, let’s go! Let’s go!”

He was there in flashes, running alongside them on the opposite path, barely feet behind but fractionally slower than the closing Blades. “MINHO!” Thomas bellowed.

“JUST GO!” Lesley screamed.

His teeth gritted, Thomas put on a burst of speed and threw himself sideways through the gap, the metal Blade grazing his shoulder as he slammed into Minho and Lesley, all three of them stumbling.

_Never stop running_. The words rattled around in Lesley’s head. It was the only thing she could think of. Her lungs gasped for air, adrenaline pounding through her veins like liquid fire.

“Come on, move!” Minho yelled, grabbing Thomas’s arm and yanking him forward. “Keep going, keep going!”

Finally, they reached the edge of the Blades. They skidded around the corner, bolting down the dark, towering passage and screaming past the gigantic number seven. “Go, go, go!” Thomas hollered.

The ground erupted around them, sending them screeching to a halt, boots skidding in the dirt as the concrete cracked beneath their feet, sending dust and debris firing into the air with an explosive force.

And then utter chaos erupted.

Lesley blinked furiously, gaping, wondering how what she was seeing could possibly be real as the ground lifted up before them on either side like a drawbridge, revealing intricate metal frameworks beneath. Dust showered them where they stood.

There was a towering metal inlay rising vertically up the concrete wall ahead, impossibly hundreds of feet tall and perhaps twenty wide. Even as they watched, the clamps on the edges of it were released, and the gargantuan rusting slab teetered only momentarily before it came crashing down towards them with a heinous metal screech.

A choked gasp burst from Minho’s mouth. The sound jerking Lesley from her stupor, she frantically snatched at his and Thomas’s running vests, hauling them backwards by the shoulders. “Go, go, go!” she screamed.

They bolted for it. It wasn’t a moment too soon; the metal slab crashed down on their heels, nearly catapulting them into the air with the force of the impact as they sprinted back along the outer ring, hearts thrashing in sync.

All around them the Maze was collapsing, walls crumbling, shifting. Dust burst from the ground, sending them crashing into one another as they darted around and twisted their way through the erupting chaos. They made the mistake of looking over their shoulders. Lesley tripped and just about fell over, her heart skipping several beats. The ground was splitting, dividing into sections faster than they could count, winching up behind them and bombarding them with debris as dust clouds billowed around their heels.

“Come on, don’t look back!” Minho yelled.

Lesley could hardly hear anything over the deafening roar in her ears. Dust filled her nose and mouth, choking her. The world was falling apart; walls were tumbling everywhere - left, right, directly across the outer sections they were sprinting towards -

Another slab crashed to the ground just behind them, barely missing. “Oh, _shit_!” Thomas cried.

Impossibly, out of the shower of debris appeared a gap, a tunnel into the ivy corridors beyond. It was closing, the floor rising to meet the ceiling. “There!” Lesley shrieked.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Thomas shouted as they took a dive off to their left, scrambling up onto the rapidly ascending concrete panel with Minho in the lead.

The stampeding dust cloud swept past them, bursting into the passage. Coughing raggedly, her eyes burning, Lesley clambered through the tunnel as fast as she could. She could barely see, could barely hear Minho and Thomas on either side of her. The passage shrank, rising, rising; Lesley dropped into a crawl, frantically hauling herself along the stone and barely wincing at the flaming scrapes and grazes that scorched her elbows; she could sense the cool stone inches above her body, pressing, suffocating; faster, faster; she gasped, she wasn’t going to make it -

And then her hand grasped thin air and she plummeted over the edge, dropping ten feet onto solid concrete with a shriek as Thomas and Minho slammed to the ground on either side of her. The passage closed with a thunderous crashing sound that shook the world around them.

And then all was still.

“Whew!” Thomas exhaled, collapsing back against the ground, his chest heaving.

Pushing himself up, Minho sat there panting raggedly while Lesley gasped for air, tears pricking at her eyes at the relief that they had just survived whatever the _hell_ that had been. She felt the adrenaline draining out of her with every passing second.

There was another roar of clanking metal, this time from behind them. Lesley groaned, barely able to summon the energy; she felt deflated. “Just leave me here to die, will ya? I’m not running like that again.”

A borderline hysterical laugh bursting from his mouth, Minho scrambled clumsily to his feet and offered her a hand. “Come on, shank,” he wheezed.

Smiling, she clasped his hand with some difficulty and let him yank her to her feet, neither commenting on the sweat coating their palms. Beside them, Thomas stumbled upright with a heavy exhale.

Together, they staggered to the end of the corridor, which opened up into yet another flat plain. They took a sharp right turn towards the direction of the sound, and Thomas, Minho and Lesley all came to an abrupt stop.

It was not the labyrinth Lesley recognised.

Instead of a solid wall in front of them, or several entrances into the ivy corridors, there was a path cutting directly through the Narrows in a straight line, stretching as far as the eye could see. Distantly, a patch of green could be seen at the far end of the corridor.

Thomas squinted. “Is that what I think it is?”

Minho nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. It’s the Glade.” He turned to peer over his shoulder, and with wide eyes he yanked Lesley around to look as well.

Her mouth fell open in amazement. On the towering walls ahead of them was a massive red seven painted onto the stone. They now had a direct pathway leading them to Section Seven from the Glade.

“We did it,” Lesley gasped, letting out an astonished laugh. “Holy shuck, we did it!”

Lunging forward, Minho threw his arms around her waist. “We did it, shank!” he yelled, lifting her up and spinning her around; she shrieked with laughter, giddy and breathless as she hugged him back fiercely. Minho’s eyes were shining. “I think we just solved the Maze!”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

They ran the rest of the way back to the Glade on the new pathway, the sun rapidly setting over their heads. Minho and Lesley glanced at each other frequently, ecstatic grins on their faces as they nudged one another’s shoulders. Even Thomas looked quietly pleased.

To their surprise, they were met at the edge of the fields by about thirteen boys, including the other Keepers. All of them had anxious expressions on their faces.

“What the hell’s goin’ on out there?” Newt exclaimed as they arrived, falling into step with the three Runners as they slowed down but kept moving. “Sounded like explosions or something; the entire bloody Glade was shaking. I swear the wall at the end of the corridor just _moved_ -”

“What the hell you done now, Thomas?” Gally asked accusingly, his voice hard.

“We found something,” Thomas panted. “A new passage.”

Lesley grinned brightly at Newt; he was momentarily taken aback by the sheer joy in her expression. “We think it could be a way out,” she announced excitedly.

She could see the carefully guarded hope flickering in Newt’s eyes as his mouth dropped open in surprise. “Really?”

Minho nodded. “It’s true,” he confirmed, still beaming. “We opened a door, something I’ve never seen before.”

“The walls literally toppled over and made a path to Section Seven the moment we got close enough with the Griever device,” Lesley interjected.

“I think it must be where the Grievers go during the day,” Minho added. “There was all this slime around the doorway. The number on the device matches the section of the Maze; it came from there.”

“Wait, woah, woah, woah!” Chuck exclaimed, struggling to catch up to them with his short legs. He looked between the Runners as if they were mad. “You’re saying you found the Grievers’ home? And you want us to go _in_ there?”

Thomas nodded. “Their way in could be our way out, Chuck.”

“Yeah,” Gally responded with a roll of his eyes, “ _or_ there could be a dozen Grievers on the other side.” His voice was rapidly rising in volume with every word. “The truth is, Thomas doesn’t know what he’s done, as usual!”

His jaw tightening with fury, Thomas spun on his heel to glare at him. “Yeah, well at least I did _something_ , Gally,” he spat. Everyone came to a stop. “I mean, what have _you_ done? Huh? Aside from hide behind these walls all the time.”

Gally took a menacing step into his personal space, his expression livid. “Let me tell you something, _Greenie_ ,” he snapped. “You’ve been here three days, alright?”

“It’s actually four or five,” Lesley muttered. She’d lost count.

Gally ignored her. “I’ve been here three _years_!”

“Yeah, you’ve been here three years and you’re _still here_ , Gally!” Thomas shouted back, pressing closer. “Alright? So what does that tell us? Maybe you should start doing things a little differently!”

“Maybe you should be in charge, what about that?” Gally shot back sarcastically.

“For once in your shucking life, shut _up_ , Gally!” Lesley yelled, roughly shoving him away from Thomas. “Leave the guy alone! We wouldn’t have found out about this if it wasn’t for him -”

“Oh, just ask for his hand in marriage, why don’t you?” Gally spat.

Minho’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching.

“I’d rather not,” Lesley retorted. “No offence, Thomas -”

“None taken,” Thomas mumbled.

“- but, Gal, you need to get your head out of your ass and stop blaming everything on Thomas! You’re like a broken record. We’re _all_ stuck here! Get a grip, move on, and let us Runners find a shuck way out - which we probably just _have_ -”

“You know what, when will you get off my back and keep _your_ mouth shut, Les?” Gally barked. “Sticking your nose into things you don’t understand, every single shucking time. I swear I’d punch your lights out if it meant I didn’t have to listen to you one more time!”

“Gally, slim it,” Newt ordered sharply, raising his voice. “There’s no need for that -”

Hurt ricocheted through Lesley, sharp and painful. Her eyes burned. “I’d welcome it right now,” she bit out venomously as if Newt hadn’t spoken. “Then they’d throw you in the Slammer and I wouldn’t have to see your shuck face for a few hours.”

Gally’s arm muscle twitched. Minho lunged forward without warning, tackling Gally and sending them both crashing to the ground. “You apologise, shuckface!” he snarled.

“Hey, hey!” Newt roared, scrambling forward and seizing Minho’s shirt, hauling him off Gally. “Enough!”

Still held back by Newt, Minho stood there panting, a simmering fury in his eyes. Gally slowly got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothing and scowling heavily.

Lesley watched Gally quietly, the anger draining out of her as fast as it had appeared. She shook her head. “What the hell happened to you, Gal?” she asked, her voice wavering dangerously. “You were never like this before.”

Gally’s eyes flicked to Thomas. “He’s up to something,” he said flatly. “I wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw -”

“Enough!” Newt yelled again, his expression fierce and his jaw rigid with anger. “Like Gally said, things are changing! I understand you shanks are bloody scared, worried, looking for some shuckface to blame. But _this_ isn’t going to solve _anything_.” He looked at all of them sternly. “Take a step back, take a deep breath - whatever you need to slim down - but do _not_ take it out on each other, alright? That’s not who we are. Never has been.” He folded his arms. “The next idiot looking to start a fight is gonna end up in the Slammer. We’ve got four of those pits; plenty enough room for all you shanks if I need to throw the lot of you in there. Is that clear?”

There were mutters of agreement. Lesley looked down in shame, her cheeks flushing, and was surprised when she felt Minho’s hand squeeze her shoulder. She heard movement, and didn’t need to look up to know that Gally had stormed off in the direction of the Homestead.

“Guys!” Teresa’s voice suddenly called. All of them turned around as she hurried towards them. “Guys! Hey! It’s Alby. He’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love it when the Blades are changing! One of my favourite moments in the first film. So much action, the adrenaline was really pumping writing this!
> 
> I adore the hug moment. I know I wrote it, but those two. Dorks. I love them so much. They're so happy to have finally solved the Maze after so so long, Minho in particular. It's part of another deleted scene of the movie!
> 
> And Gally steps in with some, ah, rather unwelcome opinions. (Lesley does have a habit of not holding her tongue when she should, he has a point, but it was still mean). And ooh Minho is pissed! That was fun writing the little confrontation, and Newt telling them all off. I'm sure little fights like that happened far more than the movies showed - they're a group of teenage boys.
> 
> This chapter only had small dialogue changes because it was mainly action, but bigger changes will be happening in the next few chapters.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, hope you all enjoyed this one. Please feel free to leave comments and kudos! xx


	30. The Enemy Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alby has a revelation, night falls, and the Gladers find themselves living a waking nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been so so so excited to post this one!! This and the next few are my favourite chapters overall.  
> Enjoy!! xx

They hurried across the Glade - Lesley, Thomas, Newt, Minho and Frypan all filing into the Med-jacks’ hut after Teresa and just about tripping over one another in their haste.

“Has he said anything?” Minho asked desperately as they crammed into the space.

Teresa shook her head. “No.”

Alby was perched on the edge of his cot with his back to them, his legs swinging over the side. Tremors rocked his bandaged body, his bare torso shiny with sweat and crossed with the fading remains of blackened veins.

“Alby?” Newt whispered, cautiously shifting closer so as not to startle him. He slowly sat down beside him, ducking forward to see his face properly. “Alby, you alright?”

Alby continued to stare at the wall, his expression tortured as he inhaled shakily.

Carefully, Thomas knelt down in front of him. “Hey, Alby,” he called softly.

Lesley drew a sharp breath, tears pricking her eyes at the lack of response; the Changing had turned Alby into a shell of his former self. _Some shanks pull through but lose their minds in the process,_ he’d said.

She had suffered a troubled relationship with Alby almost from the start, which against all odds had grown stronger - shuck, enough for him to trust her with their origin story - but she hadn’t even realised how much she cared about him until they’d risked their lives in an effort to get him out of the Maze alive. She glanced at Minho; his own expression was tight with pain.

There was the soft sound of footsteps and Gally slipped into the room. Staying silent, he only nodded in acknowledgment to them; a truce.

Thomas licked his lips. “Alby?” he tried again. “We might have just found a way out of the Maze.” His voice was quietly hopeful. “Do you hear me? We could be getting out of here.”

Alby shook his head the barest amount, his eyes glistening. “We can’t,” he whispered brokenly. His bottom lip trembled. “We can’t leave. They won’t let us.”

Thomas glanced up at Newt, who looked simultaneously alarmed and confused. Frypan and Gally stared at each other incredulously, their eyes wide.

Sharing an apprehensive glance with Minho, Lesley took a step forward. “ _Who_ won’t?” she asked fearfully. “Alby?”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas pressed, his voice quiet but laced with steel.

Alby didn’t speak for a long minute. “I remember,” he finally bit out.

Thomas swallowed hard. The tension in the air was suffocating. “What do you remember?”

For the first time since the conversation began, Alby looked at Thomas. “You.”

Mouths dropping open in shock, everyone in the room stared at Thomas, who looked terrified by the revelation. Lesley went rigid where she stood.

Alby’s gaze was unrelenting. “You were always their favourite, Thomas,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Always.” A tear slid down his cheek. “Why did you do this? Why did you come here?”

Without warning, the air outside erupted with shouting, the other Glader boys yelling out in what sounded like sheer panic, voices rising in an indiscernible babble.

Alby put his head in his hands in despair, turning his face away and signaling a clear end to the conversation. The rest of them scrambled out into the Glade, Lesley and Newt at the lead.

It was chaos; pure pandemonium. Gladers were sprinting in all directions with lit torches in their hands, shouting and hollering to one another.

“Winston!” Lesley called as the Keeper went running past.

Thomas reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hey, Winston, what’s going on?”

“It’s the Doors!” Winston panted. “They aren’t closing!”

With that, he was off again. Her heart in her mouth, Lesley took off after him, the others close on her heels; she realised she hadn’t heard the thunder of the stone slabs closing for the night. She cursed herself for not realising it earlier, caught up in the excitement of the new path, caught up in her anxiety for Alby.

All around her, Gladers were running towards the Doors, faces twisted with horror and fear as they gathered at the edge of the labyrinth, night rapidly falling around them. As one, they stared down the dark ivy corridor, no one saying a word, all of them utterly still. Lesley swallowed hard, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

A vicious, thunderous _CRACK_ like a cannon blast shot through the air, a booming echo that rattled across the Glade. Lesley slammed her hands over her ears at the deafening noise, barely aware of the shouts of alarm around her as she looked about frantically, searching for the source.

There was a flash of movement on the far wall. “The birds!” Lesley shouted, watching as a bunch of crows launched themselves into the sky, flapping furiously as if they couldn’t get away fast enough, screeching and cawing to one another.

And then the Gladers’ mouths fell open in shock as they realised why.

The ground thundered beneath their boots as there was the roar of grinding gears, and the walls opposite them began to shift, the gargantuan stones sliding sideways to reveal, impossibly, another set of Doors; another Maze entrance. Lesley was speechless.

_CRACK. CLANG._

One after the other, the thunderous, almighty sounds rocked the entire world around them. Lesley took a horrified step backwards into Newt and saw the same dismay on his own features; the walls at either end of the Glade were shifting open, the grate of stone against stone sending a shudder rocketing up Lesley’s spine. Boys ran in all directions, sprinting towards the newest openings, morbid curiosity firmly entwined with pure dread. Lesley couldn’t turn around fast enough; too much was happening all at once.

“Holy shucking hell,” Minho whispered.

The Glade now had four entrances into the Maze, one for each point of the compass.

There was a shocked silence, the Gladers standing there gaping as they looked to Newt; to Minho, Lesley, Thomas. Nothing could have prepared them for this. Lesley trembled under the weight of their terror, trying desperately to wrangle her own nerves together.

“Okay, Chuck,” Thomas said suddenly, his shaking voice breaking the spell, “I want you to go to the Council Hall, okay? Start barricading the doors.”

“Mhmm-hmm,” Chuck replied, nodding vigorously, his face white with fear.

“Winston, you go with him,” Newt ordered.

“Got it.”

“Get the others,” Gally told one of the other boys, Scott. “Tell them to go to the forest. Go hide, now!”

Thomas turned to the Keeper stood beside him. “Minho, I want you to grab every weapon you can find. I’ll meet you at Council Hall. Take Newt and Fry with you.”

Minho nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, the three boys setting off into the approaching darkness as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

Thomas turned around. “Les, Teresa. We’re gonna go get Alby, alright? Come on.”

Lesley nodded, relieved there would be three of them; Alby had been heavy enough last time, and that had been with two muscular boys helping her. “Come on!” she called, her gaze snapping to the other Gladers around them, awaiting instructions. “The rest of you, scram!”

They had barely taken a couple of steps towards the med hut when a piercing roar split the air. Lesley, Thomas and Teresa spun to look at the far end of the Glade; the six boys who had gathered curiously at the new set of Doors were now bolting in the opposite direction like bats out of hell. “GRIEVER!” one of them screamed.

_Click. Click-click. Click-click-clack. Click._ _Hisssssss._

The hair on the back of Lesley’s neck shot up on end, goosebumps skittering across her skin. She instinctively grabbed Thomas’s arm; the two of them would know that sound anywhere.

Another spine-chilling roar sounded, this time from the ivy passageway the Runners used on a daily basis; slowly emerging from the mist was a hulking, snarling Griever in all its monstrous glory. Behind it, two more clambered out of the darkness, their menacing jaws snapping hungrily.

“Oh, shit,” Lesley whimpered.

Thomas, apparently, had the exact same thought. “Alright, everybody hide!” he roared.

The Gladers scattered, sprinting in all directions as screams of panic ripped through the night. Across the Glade, a Griever burst out of the Maze, charging after a group of boys.

“Come on!” Thomas yelled. “Run! RUN!”

Lesley was barely aware of where she was going, logic abandoning her as icy terror gripped her, self-preservation instincts kicking in and thoughts of Alby fleeing her mind not for the first time. She bolted after Zart into the corn fields, hearing Teresa panting behind her. She shoved the stalks aside, blindly forcing her way through the crops, her blood running cold at the harrowing screams sounding from all over the Glade.

She tripped in the dirt, slamming into the soil; Thomas was suddenly right there to grab her. “Go, go!” he shouted, hauling her to her feet again.

“Stay down!” someone else yelled, sprinting adjacent to them through the crops and abruptly ducking out of sight.

They crashed to a heap on the ground with burning lungs, Lesley, Thomas, Zart, Teresa, Wyck and Doug all crouching together, trying desperately to soften their heavy breathing. Thomas pressed a finger to his lips, his gaze darting frantically, terror carved into every line of his features. Lesley could already feel the sweat pouring down her own face.

A low snarl split the air, followed by multiple screams of agony. Lesley went rigid, grabbing Thomas’s arm again, her chest so tight it made her dizzy, her lungs clawing for air. She was terrified for all of them huddled there in the darkness, for Newt, Minho, Chuck, all the other Gladers; for her _family_.

_I don’t want to die._

There was the distinct metallic whir of a Griever, paralysingly close. Lesley’s heart thrashed within her ribcage; she wondered if she was experiencing its final beats. She fought back the whimper of horror that threatened to burst from her throat, biting down on her lip so hard she tasted the sharp tang of blood.

Without warning, a clawed metal arm shot down amidst the group. Lesley screamed as it wrapped itself around Zart and yanked him up into the air in one sharp motion, the boy shrieking as he disappeared into the blackness of the night.

“Zart!” Thomas yelled.

Lesley could only stare in horror at where he had vanished, glued to the ground as the Griever sounds grew terrifyingly louder, pressing in from all sides. And then it was a blur of sheer terror; she was on her feet again, the remaining five of them staggering upright and charging through the crops, the clicking whirs of the Grievers snapping at their heels.

“HELP ME!” Zart shrieked distantly.

“The Council Hall!” Lesley bellowed. She desperately tried to ignore the wails of her friend; they couldn’t help him now. “THE HALL!”

“Go, get to the village!” Thomas roared.

The corn leaves cut at Lesley’s face. She squinted her eyes, shoving her way forward until she burst out of the crops on Thomas’s heels. The world had been plunged into darkness, a blackness so thick it was suffocating amidst the terror coursing through her.

They bolted for the med hut, snatching up the flaming torches that hung from holders on the outer walls. Lesley gripped the stick of wood fiercely, her nails digging into the bark.

“Alby!” Thomas shouted, grabbing the hanging lantern from the shack’s entrance. “Alby, are you okay?”

He was slung between Clint and Jeff in the doorway, sweat pouring down his face. “What’s goin’ on?” Alby bit out through clenched teeth.

“The Doors are open on all sides of the Glade,” Lesley panted. “They’re here.”

Dread filled Jeff’s expression as his head whipped about. “The _Grievers_?”

There was another scream and a Griever burst into view out of the crop fields, taking another Glader down with one bite of its harrowing jaws.

“Thomas, what do we do?” Jeff whispered.

“It’s got me!” Adam screeched from the other side of the shack. Pure terror eclipsed his expression as he was slammed to the ground by an unseen force and yanked away into the darkness. Lesley stumbled backwards in horror, her grip tightening painfully around her torch.

The ground thundered; there was a frightening stampede through the nearby Homestead, Gladers screaming as they scrambled through the mess of hanging canvases. With a threatening snarl, a Griever stormed into view, snapping at their heels.

“Everybody run, run, run!” Thomas yelled. “Jeff, come on, go, go go!”

Alby staggered upright of his own willpower, shoving the two Med-jacks away. “Come on!” he gasped, clutching his side.

As they bolted through the grass in a tight-knit group, Lesley glanced frantically around her. Thomas, Clint, Jeff, Teresa, Alby. She focused on them, on their presence. If she could help these shanks stay alive, maybe, just maybe -

With a piercing shriek, a Griever burst through the kitchen hut, skidding to a stop in front of them. Lesley threw her arms up to shield her head as sticks and planks of wood were sent flying, the Gladers crashing to a halt.

The Griever snarled, baring its teeth as its tail flicked up in the air, metal blades whirring. Gasping, Teresa snatched the lantern from Thomas and launched it at the creature; it burst into flames, screeching as its exposed, pulsing underbelly became drenched in flames, fire licking every inch of the exposed metal joints, thick black cables hanging down beneath the limbs. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight.

Thomas waved his arms. “Alright, everybody! Go, go, go, go, go!”

They hurtled around the Griever, giving it as wide a berth as possible as it catapulted around with earsplitting wails, thrashing about on the ground. Without warning, it curled in on itself and rolled across the grass, extinguishing the flames within seconds.

“Shuck, no!” Lesley screamed. _Out of time out of time out of time -_

Thomas chanced a glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened. “No, no, no, no!”

With an enraged roar that shredded their hearing, the Griever set off at a gallop after them.

There was too much open ground and not enough shelter. The night was a chaotic disarray of bobbing torchlights as Gladers sprinted in all directions. Terror hung in the atmosphere like a suffocating blanket. Cries and screams pierced Lesley’s ears, chilling her to the bone as her chest tightened with panic.

Behind them, Clint tripped over with a startled gasp; a second later, another Griever ploughed across the grass and snatched him up in its jaws before he could even scream.

“Keep moving!” Thomas roared, shoving Lesley forward as she stumbled. He glanced over his shoulder as he stooped to pick up an abandoned spear. “Oh, _shit_!”

And then Alby crashed to the ground.

“Alby!” Jeff yelled. Lesley caught his other arm, the two of them hauling him back onto his feet.

She fervently wished she hadn’t turned around then; their blunder meant they now had a snarling Griever staring them down, pincers clicking with murderous intent.

“Get behind me!” Thomas shouted, shoving them behind him. He raised the spear, sweat pouring down his face. “Come on!” he goaded.

The Griever screeched, lumbering closer. It opened its jaws, saber teeth slick with goo, and lunged forward -

\- only for a hoard of spears to suddenly embed themselves in its skin, piercing the armour and plunging deep into its body. It stumbled backwards, screaming. Lesley slammed her hands over her ears, cowering away from the sheer noise.

“Over here, let’s go!” Frypan hollered.

Lesley’s head whipped around. Frypan, Newt and Minho were sprinting towards them with flaming torches; Newt had another spear attached to his back, machete in hand.

“Over here! Let’s go, come on!” Frypan yelled again, hurtling past them.

“Griever magnet; told you, shank!” Minho panted to Lesley as they sprinted after the others towards the Council Hall. She barked out a hysterical laugh.

“GO!” Newt roared next to them.

Figures emerged out of the darkness to join them as they bolted across the fields, the Gladers starting to clump together. One of the younger boys stumbled nearby, gasping for air. Lesley grabbed his arm, hauling him along with her. “Come on, Jack!”

In her mind, she was stuck in the Maze again, running away from her worst nightmares with her friends at her side - except this time, it wasn’t just about surviving until dawn.

It was like a tidal wave of people surging towards the low-lying structure, panic taking over as the Gladers sprinted for any possible chance of shelter, of reprieve from the monsters they were at the mercy of. All around Lesley, the Grievers were picking the Gladers off one by one and snuffing out their torches as they went, an eerie depiction of the lives being extinguished. Her blood ran colder than ice.

Alby stumbled again, a gasp of pain bursting from his throat. Thomas grabbed him around the waist and Minho raced forward to haul his other arm over his own shoulder, the two of them bearing him towards the Council Hall.

Her boots smacking the ground in a haphazard tempo, Lesley realised something, dread pooling in her gut as an invisible vice clamped around her chest.

_They were being rounded up._

Without even realising it, the Gladers were being herded towards one of the last sanctuaries they could find; they were handing the Grievers the key to killing about twenty of them all at once.

But not if she could help it. A plan sprang to mind. It was idiotic, suicidal. She didn’t plan going down a martyr, but like hell she was going to let those monsters touch her friends.

They had opened the doorway. The blood was on her hands.

_Griever magnet._ That was the second time Minho had called her that. Maybe he had a point. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

Gritting her teeth, Lesley took off, sprinting towards the Deadheads and not stopping to see if anyone noticed, not affording herself the luxury of saying goodbye; precious time was at stake. As soon as she was in the tree line, she made a harried loop through the verges to reach the far side of the Glade, hoping like hell there were no Grievers on her tail.

She scrambled towards the med hut, the structure miraculously still standing amongst the chaos. “Come on, come on, come on,” she panted frantically to herself. She was so scared, she was starting to lose her mind; she shuddered uncontrollably, her nerves shredding themselves. “Come on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER TIME! Mwahaha.
> 
> (And as you've probably guessed, two meanings for the title - Thomas and the Grievers!)
> 
> See you all soon with the next chapter!! xx (saving all my author notes for now) (also look - I've got a final chapter count up now yay! The outlines are done for the end of the story eeee)


	31. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council Hall is a sinking lifeboat, Lesley is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, and Gally is full of surprises - sometimes quite literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onwards!!

“In here, in here!” Chuck yelled, standing in the doorway and frantically waving everyone over. “Over here, come on!”

“Winston!” Thomas shouted when they were close enough. “Get Alby inside!”

Winston immediately charged out the doorway and took Alby’s weight from them, setting him down on the floor with Teresa at his side. All around, Gladers surged through the entrance, pushing and shoving and falling over one another.

“Chuck, get in! Go, go, go!” Thomas shouted, yanking him inside and slamming the door shut after him. “Lock down the door!”

Minho and Frypan darted forward, seizing the spare planks of wood from the floor and clamping them down across the frame.

But they all knew it wasn’t going to stop a Griever.

“Shh, shh!” Newt urgently hushed the panicking Gladers as everyone hurriedly snuffed out their torches, plunging the room into darkness.

_Click-clack. Clack. Click-clack. Hisssss ..._

No one moved a muscle, wide and terrified eyes staring towards the door. The scuttling sounds grew louder with each passing second. No one seemed to be breathing.

There was a thunderous pounding on the door, the wood flexing. The Gladers shrank back against one another with stifled cries of alarm. It was followed by the unnerving snap of splintering wood, first from the walls ... but then steadily creeping upwards.

“Stay back, guys,” Thomas murmured. Beside him, Minho was tense as a wire, his posture rigid.

There was a low, rippling growling sound from above. Their spears and knives pointed skywards, the Gladers shifted on the stairs as quietly as possible, eyes transfixed on the ceiling as there was the unmistakable sound of scuttling on the roof over their heads, the array of sticks creaking ominously beneath the weight of something far heavier than themselves.

_Click. Clack. Click-clack. Click-click._

Taking note of the Gladers around him, Newt suddenly gripped Minho’s arm. “Min, where’s Les?” he hissed frantically.

Glancing about, Minho’s expression twisted with horror. “No,” he choked out.

Suddenly, the roof collapsed in an explosion of debris.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

The torches were all gone, the med hut dark and deserted.

“Shit!” Lesley gasped, looking around frantically at the sparse furnishings, squinting at her surroundings. She couldn’t pull apart a bed; a table wouldn’t break easily; the knives on the bench were small and useless; a mattress would do shuck all as a shield -

The chair. That would have to do.

She grabbed it and smashed it against the ground, her body following the curve of the motion, her head low to the ground. The chair smacked against the floor and flung itself back towards her, rebounding forcefully and colliding painfully with Lesley’s nose. “Shuck!” she swore as heat bloomed across her face, colours dancing across her vision.

_Add ‘accident prone’ to the list of things I didn’t know about me,_ she growled to herself as she hurled the chair at the ground again. “Come on, break! Motherf -!”

_Click-clack. Click. Click. Hisssss ..._

Lesley froze, every cell in her body screeching to a halt. She whirled around, barely able to breathe as panic and terror surged through her.

_Move move move move!_ her mind screamed at her.

Possessed by a maniacal energy, Lesley smashed the chair against the ground again and again and again, cursing the boys for their sturdy furniture, swearing at the blood that dribbled from her nose, her mouth filled with the bitter taste of iron -

With a clunking noise, the chair splintered apart.

Lesley could have cried in relief. “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she muttered, snatching up the legs.

Outside, more screams pierced the night. Working as fast as she could, Lesley tore strips off the bedsheets and wrapped them around the top of the chair legs. In her frantic search for matches, she found a bottle of oil in the draw.

“Why the hell would they need oil?” Lesley muttered, drenching the rags in a desperate attempt to fuel them.

She wished someone was there. Anyone. _Anything_ to stop her own frantic thoughts careering around her head so fast it made her want to scream. It was the Maze all over again; she was seeing things, processing everything at a speed that frightened even herself.

Fumbling with the matches, her fingers trembling, she finally managed to get a spark. Lesley hissed as the material burst into flame, squinting her eyes at the sudden explosion of light, excruciatingly bright in the darkness.

There was a bottle of alcohol on the table. Sterilising purposes, she remembered. She picked it up and downed half the contents unashamedly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand with a satisfied smack of her lips. She relished the scorching heat that swept down her throat, her grin feral. She was shucking hysterical.

_Click-clack. Click. Clack. Clack._

It was close.

Lesley whirled around, charging towards the door and hauling it open - only to come face to face with a Griever, the creature hunched just outside the entrance, poised, ready to attack. A low growl emanated from its throat.

She gulped.

With a deafening shriek, it launched itself at her, jaws wide open. Her mind going blank, Lesley did the only thing she could think of; screaming, she grabbed the remains of the chair and rammed the intact backrest into the Griever’s mouth with as much force as she could muster, shoving in her spare torch for good measure.

The Griever staggered backwards, twisting and contorting in revulsion and fury as it tossed its body about, trying to rid itself of the foreign object. Its bellowing roars shaking the earth and sky around her, Lesley slipped through the gap it made and hauled ass towards the other side of the Glade, torch grasped tightly in her hand. It was her turn to hunt.

Lesley felt invincible.

Adrenaline roared through her veins, filling every fibre of her being with steel and liquid fire all at once. She barely saw the flames that lined her path in an aisle of blazing glory. Her heart thrashed within her ribcage; she could hear the sounds of pursuit behind her, a Griever galloping in her direction, but she didn’t dare look back. The beats of her heart were numbered, every breath she drew limited, but she was going to make every single one count.

Back in the Maze, her terror had thrown all logical thought out the window to the point she had been running for her life with little concern for her companions. Now, it had her hurtling headlong into danger with a thrill that was only possible just out of the clutches of death. She didn’t know what fate awaited her at the end of the night, but like hell she was going down without a fight.

The Griever behind her shrieked. Lesley put on a burst of speed, darting around the tree line and across the middle of the Glade, snatching up an abandoned spear as she went -

And then everything inside her lurched to a halt, panic consuming her.

A Griever was scrambling over the remains of the Council Hall, flanked by another, both plunging holes in the walls, tearing the structure apart.

She was too late.

Horror washed through her. She could hear shrieks of pain, screams of sheer terror; the boys, her brothers. They were trapped; the roof had caved in, the place barely standing.

There was a flash of white in the Griever’s jaws. Lesley’s heart stopped, her entire soul howling in despair. _Not Newt. Please. Not Newt._

“Hey!” she screamed, a guttural roar that just about shredded her vocal chords.

The Grievers immediately turned in her direction.

A weight dropped in her gut like a stone. “Oh, _shit_.”

With a shriek that sent Lesley cowering backwards, the monsters charged, barreling towards her over flames and debris, snarling and screeching.

Frighteningly, the gallops behind her had slowed. With a frantic glance over her shoulder, she saw that the Griever had. Completely. Stopped. Ahead of her, the other two Grievers scrambled to a halt, creeping closer, snarling at her. Lesley drew a sharp breath.

She was surrounded.

The Grievers began to circle her. She whipped her torch around, not shifting her gaze from each one for long. The suspense was torturous. Lesley knew what was happening, and it sickened her to her core; the Grievers were _toying_ with her. This was _entertainment_.

_Click-clack. Click. Click._

They hissed at her, the sounds low and unsettling, creeping under Lesley’s skin as the hair on the back of her neck shot up on end. Her blood ran colder than ice. She swallowed thickly, turning in another slow circle, keeping them at bay, trying to keep their attention on her. Every second she won was a chance for her friends to get somewhere safe.

If such a place still existed in the Glade.

She gripped the torch so tight her knuckles were white, the wood splintering beneath her nails. Lesley had to fight every instinct not to retch as the reek of death washed over her, the stench of a thousand corpses emanating from the jaws of the creatures before her, slime drooling from their saber teeth. It was just like that first time in the Maze, seeing one of the Grievers in all its terrifying glory.

Except now, she had the upper hand. She had offered them a challenge.

“What are you waiting for?” she hissed. She waved the torch in their grotesque faces, daring them to move. “Come on!”

The Grievers ambled closer. Lesley found her spear angled awkwardly as the circle tightened. Turning around, she peered at them carefully. She was missing something. She had to be missing something. What were they doing? Why hadn’t they attacked her yet?

Her gaze settled on one Griever in particular, her torch barely inches from its jaws. With a sickening sense of clarity, she understood. Somehow, she knew it was the one she had seen in the Maze; they hadn’t killed it after all.

This one had marked her down as its prey.

“Gotcha,” she whispered.

With a piercing shriek, the Griever lunged, and so did Lesley. She stabbed the spear into the Griever’s gaping jaws and catapulted herself over the creature, landing awkwardly on its spine. She scrambled off as fast as she could and bolted towards the Box.

Stupidly, part of her plan relied on this one moment. She was dead otherwise.

The Grievers were hounding her, snapping at her heels, shrieking furiously, the ground quaking beneath the thunderous beat of their steps.

Smoke billowed across the fields, choking, suffocating her. Her eyes burned; she wanted to claw them out. Her feet stamped down the grass as she hurtled across the field, the cold night air burning her lungs. She could feel her hair floating around her hair in a frizzy mess, and she would have bet all the supply of Gally’s moonshine the wild look in her eyes made her look like someone with a one way ticket to a mad house.

Against all odds, her torso heaving, she reached the Box in one piece.

Throwing herself onto her side, Lesley hauled one of the lids up and skidded through the gap, gasping as the friction scorched her bare arms. She slammed the lid down over her head and collapsed, her spine slamming painfully against the grated floor as her lungs clawed for air, feeling the painful beginnings of a stitch in her side.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. The Grievers pounced, all three of them scrabbling at the metal grate.

“What the _hell_ did you do?!”

Lesley screamed, frantically scrambling backwards until she hit something - no, _someone_. No, _two_ people; Chad and Scott.

Gally lurched out of the darkness, snatching her shirt in his fists. He stared down at her, eyes wild with terror and a blazing fury lining his features. “You’ve gotten us all killed, shuckface!” he roared, shaking her.

“I didn’t know anyone else was here!” she shrieked back, spittle flying. “Thought I was the only one stupid enough to lock myself in here!”

As if coming to his senses, Gally abruptly let go of her.

“Touché?” Chad interjected weakly, still cowering in the corner with Scott.

They all flinched as one of the Grievers released a bellowing roar, the four Gladers slamming their hands down over their ears in perfect sync. Lesley felt the sound in every crevice of her body, reverberating through her.

Looking up, a hysterical laugh burst from her mouth; the Grievers’ pincers were too big to grab the grated lids. They shrieked, clawing viciously over their heads, slamming against it, trying to penetrate it, but the metal was too strong.

_Bested by their own creation,_ Lesley thought viciously. _Give us an elevator shaft that not even your own shuck monsters can get into._

“You still got a plan?” Gally panted.

Lesley winced as the cage doors jolted over their heads. “Uh,” she gulped.

Gally stared at her. “You’re kidding me. _This_ was as far as you planned?!”

Another roar shook the world around them.

“Sorry for thinking on my feet,” Lesley snapped. “There’s about twenty Gladers trapped in the Council Hall. The Grievers were all over them; I had to do something!”

“So you served the four of us up on a silver platter instead,” Gally spat. “If we die tonight, I will _kill_ you, Les!”

There was a blast like a foghorn. Lesley shrank back against the floor, grabbing Gally’s arm to steady herself. She wondered if the Box was about to move.

Above them, the Grievers stilled. The hideous click-clack noise shattered the air, and the creatures suddenly took off into the night, scrambling over one another in their haste.

Barely waiting to see if they had truly gone, Lesley shoved up one side of the grated doors and pulled herself up, clambering outside.

“No, Lesley, wait!” Chad shouted, his voice a distant echo in her ears.

The sight that met her eyes made her want to collapse where she stood; the world staggered to a halt around her, the air knocked from her lungs. There was fire everywhere she looked, flames billowing in torrents across the Glade, the orange glow harsh and blinding in the blackness of the night. The smoke burned Lesley’s eyes; tears poured down her cheeks.

There were shrieks of agony from all directions, boys screaming in torture, crying for help. Even more distantly, Griever roars echoed through the night.

And then all fell silent until the only thing Lesley could hear was the crackling of the flames. The searing heat washed over her skin, prickling and uncomfortable. Slowly, she could feel the presence of the other boys around her, all of them staring in shock. Even Gally was speechless for once.

“Where is everybody?” Scott asked as his eyes swept the Glade, his voice quiet as if scared to shatter the silence.

“Council Hall,” Lesley reiterated. She set off at a harried pace through the grass. “Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hands down one of the best scenes I've ever written. I originally wrote it where Lesley is in the Council Hall with everyone else, but one night I had this vivd image in my head of Lesley standing in the middle of the Glade with nothing but a flaming torch and a spear, surrounded by Grievers (the resulting scribble still makes me laugh) and I just couldn't get it out of my head, and the scene evolved into this! I kept the start of that scene; I still wanted to show a little of what was happening to the other Gladers.
> 
> One of the joys of writing this story has been to imagine the moments in the Glade from a different perspective (eg Lesley and Minho in the Maze when Alby gets Stung) and this scene is another addition that I've really grown to love.
> 
> (Btw, the title was inspired by that FEAR quote - Forget Everything And Run, or Face Everything And Rise.)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it! Please feel free to leave comments and kudos, it keeps me super motivated!! xx


	32. Forced Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is blamed, Gally claws his way to the top of the hierarchy, and Newt needs a little help to remember he doesn't need to shoulder his burdens alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!! xx see you at the end of the chapter!

Smoke hung in the air like a screen. Lesley could barely see, the glow of the fires painfully bright. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, frantically scanning the fields for movement, for Gladers, for _anything_ that wasn’t a Griever.

“There they are,” Chad said quietly.

Lesley squinted through the haze of the fires at the silhouettes gathered in front of what little remained of the Council Hall. Minho, Thomas, Teresa, Chuck, Winston, Frypan. She felt a crushing surge of relief, a sob bursting from her throat.

And then she was running, running as fast as she could towards them. She didn’t care how furiously her legs were shaking, how much she wanted to collapse and cry. She tried to shout their names but her throat was too raw, too tight.

She saw Thomas’s expression shift first. “Lesley!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the gargantuan walls as she ran faster, _faster_ , her heart lurching within her chest.

Minho turned next, his eyes widening as he spotted her, his expression crumpling. As soon as she was within reach he crushed her against his chest with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. He sounded just about in tears. “I thought you’d been killed, you stupid ass shank!” he choked out.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” The rasping words tumbled from her mouth before she could catch them. “I had to get the Grievers away - I couldn’t - I couldn’t let you shanks _die_ , Min -”

She choked on a sob; he held her even tighter. She should have said goodbye. She had rationalised it in the moment, but she hadn’t realised just how much she needed these boys; how much she needed them all. The colours were back, relief surging through her. They had made it.

“Lesley?” Newt called shakily when she pulled away from Minho.

“Newt,” Lesley gasped, stumbling towards him. _The flash of white_. He was okay.

His face was shockingly ashen as he hauled her into a hug with surprising strength, like he too had thought he would never see her again. “Once was bloody enough,” he choked out. “Can’t stand the thought of you dying, Les.”

“You, neither,” Lesley moaned, trying desperately to stifle her sobs as she stepped back, furiously wiping her eyes. “I saw the hut collapse; I thought you guys were _gone_.”

“We heard you calling the Grievers away,” Teresa started. “Heard you screaming -”

“Shuck that,” Minho cut her off. “Saw you surrounded by the shucking things. You’re more like a Griever _whisperer_. What the _shuck_ was that pole vault move, shank?”

Lesley shook her head jerkily. “I don’t know,” she gasped.

“You’re so stupid,” he told her. “Don’t scare me like that ever again.”

“No promises.”

“How did you even make it outta there alive, Les?” Thomas asked, bewildered.

“Hid in the Box. The Grievers couldn’t get through the metal covers.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Gal, Chad and Scott were all there. I didn’t know,” she winced. She saw gazes shifting to the three approaching figures.

Minho continued to stare. “Why is your face covered in blood, shank?”

“A chair beat me up.”

Chuck snorted weakly, the sound watery. Lesley looked at him then, and saw the silver canister and needle he cradled in his arms. Her jaw dropped open; she would recognise it anywhere. “How the hell did you get that, Chuckie?”

“Alby snapped it off. Saved my life.”

Newt stiffened; there was a ripple effect across the entire crowd of surviving Gladers, everyone shuffling on their feet, expressions hardening.

Lesley looked around at them, her brow pinching. She couldn’t see him anywhere. “Is Alby still inside?” she asked weakly. She suddenly knew that something was dreadfully, _horribly_ wrong.

Minho shook his head, his eyes glistening. “Dead.”

_Alby_. It felt like someone had punched her in the gut, knocking every ounce of air from her lungs in one fell swoop. The world was muffled around her like she was underwater. _No, no, no, no. Not Alby. Not Alby. They hadn’t just bought him two days of borrowed time. No, no -_

Gally finally reached them. Thomas stepped forward to meet him. “Gally -”

He didn’t finish. Gally clenched his fist and slammed it into Thomas’s jaw with as much force as he could muster, sending him crashing to the ground.

“What the hell!” Lesley yelped. Now looking at him, she saw that his face was set in utter, hardened fury.

“Hey!” Winston lunged forward, shoving Gally away. He was joined by Newt, Frypan and Minho, the four boys forming a wall of restraint between Gally and Thomas even as he shoved furiously against their arms.

“This is all you, Thomas!” Gally yelled. “Look around!”

“Back off, Gally!” Minho roared. “It’s not Thomas’s fault!”

“You okay?” Lesley panted, crouching at Thomas’s side as he looked up blearily. When he nodded, she put a hand around his arm and pulled him to his feet. All the while, she stared at Gally, shocked by the unfiltered hatred radiating from him.

“You heard what Alby said!” Gally spat, scrabbling to get past the other boys. “He’s one of them!”

“One of _who_?” Newt snapped.

Gally’s features twisted in anguish. “He’s one of them, and they sent him here to destroy everything, and now he has! Look around, Thomas. Look around! This is _your_ fault!”

“It’s not!” Lesley shouted desperately as Thomas’s gaze drifted to the blazing fires.

“What are you talking about?” Newt asked Gally, teeth gritted. “Calm down!”

“I said _back off_ , Gally!” Minho shouted in his face.

“They sent him here, and now he’s destroyed everything that we’ve built!” Gally snarled.

His bottom lip trembling, Thomas snatched the Stinger from Chuck’s hands. He stared at it as the boys continued to argue in the background. “Maybe he’s right,” he said softly.

“Thomas?” Teresa asked quietly.

Thomas swallowed thickly. “I need to remember, Teresa. Les, you’ll understand.”

Lesley grasped what he was about to do a split second before it happened. Her eyes widening, she lunged for the Stinger, but Thomas was too fast; he slammed the needle down into his thigh with a roar of pain. “Thomas!” she screamed.

“No!” Chuck yelled.

Heads turned. “Woah, hey!” Minho cried as Thomas sank to the ground, his body rigid.

“Tommy!” Newt gasped. “Hey!”

Lesley fell to her knees, barely aware of the other Gladers swarming around them. Newt’s shoulder was jammed uncomfortably against her own beside Frypan, Minho’s hair hanging inches over her from Thomas’s other side. She grabbed Thomas’s wrist; his pulse was thrumming erratically beneath her fingertips. “He needs help,” she gasped.

Teresa whirled around. “Chuck, get the other syringe! Small blue vial on the nightstand in the med hut!” She turned back to Thomas as Chuck ran off. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Winston threw a harried glance over his shoulder. “Is the med hut still standing?”

“We’ll soon find out,” Lesley bit out, hoping the Griever hadn’t destroyed it after her.

Thomas’s eyes were wide open and dazed, unseeing, his body shaking uncontrollably beneath their hands. His breathing turned to ragged wheezing.

A shadow fell across them. “When he wakes up, you’ll see what I mean,” Gally snarled triumphantly. “You’ll see Alby was telling the truth. He’s not one of us.”

“Gally, slim it,” Newt ordered, getting to his feet. He winced, favouring his right leg. “C’mon, that’s enough for tonight. You already knocked half the brain cells out of the shank -”

The jab of humour did not work.

“Oh, no, he’s smarter than any of you gave him credit for,” Gally snapped. “We played right into his little game.”

Newt’s eyebrows shot skywards. “ _Game_? Bloody hell, Gal -” 

“You couldn’t see the warning signs even when they were right in front of your shucking eyes, Newt!” Gally yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “You just blindly put your trust in dear _Tommy_ and let him trick you all! And now look what he’s done - what _you’ve_ done!”

Newt’s cheeks flushed red in the firelight. Not with embarrassment, Lesley realised, but with shame. “Enough, Gally!” she shouted.

He ignored her, barely glancing her way; he knew he’d struck a nerve. “You let this place fall apart. Even _Alby_ saw right through him from the get go -”

“Slim it!” Minho snarled.

Newt pushed Minho away as he started forward. “Alright,” he said, his voice eerily calm as he stared levelly at Gally. “Alright. You do it then. You take charge. If you think you can do it, go ahead. The job’s all yours.”

Lesley stared in abject shock. Minho looked taken aback. “Newt -”

“Slim it!” Newt barked.

Settling his shoulders back, Gally exhaled and nodded sharply.

“What have you done?” Minho hissed. The other Gladers stared between Newt and Gally in blatant shock. Frypan and Winston glanced at one another.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps amidst gasping breaths. Chuck sprinted into view, the blue vial clutched in his chubby hand. “Here, here! I got it!”

Teresa snatched it from him. With visibly trembling hands, she plunged the needle into Thomas’s arm, emptying the tube of its contents. A violent shudder rippled through Thomas’s body; with a gasping, wheezing noise that verged on a groan, he went still, his eyes closing as he relaxed beneath their hands, the tension draining from his muscles. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the only indication that he was still alive; the pulse in his wrist began to slow.

“Alright everyone!” Gally called, his voice ringing out across the space. “Scott, Eric, go see if the showers still work. The rest of you, grab whatever you can - bowls, buckets - and head straight for the pumps. We need to put out those fires as fast as we can. Keep an eye out for any survivors.”

“The med hut’s still standing?” Teresa asked Chuck. He nodded quickly.

Lesley strengthened her resolve. “Let’s take Thomas there, then.”

“No,” Gally cut in sharply. Everyone turned to look at him. He shook his head firmly. “No. He doesn’t deserve that after tonight. Throw him in the Slammer.”

“Gally!” Lesley exclaimed, leaping to her feet, her eyes blazing. “He’s been _Stung_ you _shucking_ -!”

Before she could insult him, Gally was right in her face. “We can’t trust him,” he hissed. “Not anymore. Now, you’re either gonna follow my orders, or you’ll be right there in the pit with him.” He looked around. “Same goes for the rest of you.”

Lesley was seething. She opened her mouth to retort when Minho snatched her wrist. He gave a sharp shake of his head. _You can’t do anything locked up._

Lesley’s nostrils flared. “Fine,” she growled through clenched teeth. “We’ll do it your way. Come on, Teresa.”

“Not her,” Gally snapped. “She’s going with him. Chad, see that they stay there.”

Her body rippling with silent anger, Lesley crouched next to Thomas. “Grab his other arm for me,” she told Teresa.

Gally frowned. “I told you -”

“I know what you said,” Lesley snarled. “But she can still help me carry him.”

Gally didn’t respond. Leaving the other boys behind, Lesley and Teresa picked Thomas up, slinging his arms across their shoulders as they stumbled towards the Slammer, Chad trailing behind them.

“I can’t believe this,” Teresa seethed.

Lesley grunted under the weight. “Just keep quiet. We’ll sort this out.”

Chad helped lower Thomas into the cage. With one final, resigned nod at Lesley, Teresa settled down beside him, folding herself onto her knees as she reached out to brush the bangs from Thomas’s clammy forehead. He shuddered at the touch, eyes tightly screwed shut.

As Chad finished tying the knot on the cage, Lesley stared out at the destruction around her, stray hairs falling across her face. With every inhale, she could smell the sharp, acrid tang of smoke; her mouth was filled with the foul taste of fire and ash.

She felt a warm hand grip her shoulder; she leaned into it, sighing tiredly. Lesley couldn’t blame Chad for Gally’s orders. She’d followed them just as much.

“Glad you’re not dead,” Chad said quietly.

“You, too.”

Silence fell between them. Lesley was suddenly grateful he and the others had been in the Box with her. That first time in the metal cage had been the worst; the second hadn’t been all that comforting either, standing over Teresa’s prone form. This third time had been an utter nightmare.

“Maybe it’s a good thing those two are locked up.”

Lesley stiffened. “What are you saying?” she asked tersely.

Chad held his free hand up in a placating manner. “Whoa, woah. I mean it’s a good idea until Gally cools off. Or until we find out the truth.”

Lesley choked out a laugh. “The truth?” She ducked out from under his hand, whirling around to face him. “What the shuck, Chad? What _truth_? No matter what Ben said, or Alby, Thomas has been on our side since his first day here!”

Chad’s jaw tightened. “Ben - Ben said?” he repeated, his voice hard. He stepped closer. “So, _he_ got Stung and remembered something about this shank, and so did Alby. Maybe Gally’s right. Maybe we can’t trust him.”

“Did you forget I spent a night in the Maze with Thomas?” Lesley hissed. Chad flinched. “He’s nearly gotten himself killed more than once trying to save our sorry asses, tonight included. If I can’t trust him after all _that_ , then the Creators help us all.”

Turning on her heel, Lesley stormed off. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Amidst the chaos that followed - and with Gally suitably distracted with his new role as he sorted everyone into working groups - Minho and Lesley managed to corner Newt in the Map Room, certain their absence wouldn’t be noticed for a few minutes.

The Keeper slammed the door shut, a quiet fury blazing in his eyes. “What the _shuck_ was that all about, Newt? Huh?”

“I gave it to him,” Newt said simply, brushing some of the dirt from his hands.

His tone was dead, emotionless. It was as vacant as his eyes, and that scared Lesley as much as the Grievers. “Newt?” she whispered, gripping his shoulder and giving him a light shake. “Don’t you remember what I said the other night? We all need you. Alby left _you_ in charge if anything happened -”

“And look how bloody well that went!” Newt roared at her, lashing out. Lesley reeled back.

Minho grabbed his arm. “Easy, Newt!”

“Easy? He _trusted_ me, Minho!” Newt snapped harshly, throwing his hand off. “And the whole shuckin’ world’s been goin’ upside down! It fell apart!”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Lesley implored desperately.

“Still should’a been able to hold it together though, shouldn’t I?” Newt shook his head. “I can’t do it; I can’t face them. Look - just _look_ how many people are dead now. That wall’s gonna be shuckin’ _carving_ practice.”

His voice cracked, wavering dangerously. Minho cautiously stepped closer, his expression softer. “Hey, hey, Newt,” he called. “Come on, talk to me, buddy.”

Newt sank to the floor, eyes shining with tears. “I can’t do it. I bloody can’t.”

Minho’s entire demeanor shifted; it reminded Lesley so much of the time he had caught her in the showers. He crouched down beside Newt, hauling him into a hug and thumping him on the back. “Come on, Newtie,” he muttered. “You’re alright.”

Lesley folded herself onto the floor beside them. She brushed her hand against Newt’s shoulder, letting him know she was there. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated, voice barely louder than a whisper. “There’s no shucking way we could have predicted those Grievers charging in here. You’ve had to deal with all kinds of stuff that even Alby couldn’t possibly fathom.”

“He could,” Newt countered, his voice muffled. 

“No, he couldn’t. The worst he had to handle was the Stings during the daytime, but even then those monsters didn’t dare enter the Glade. I reckon this is something those Creators have been planning for a long time, ever since the start of this whole place.”

Newt started at her pointed tone, pulling back and staring at her. “He told you?”

Lesley nodded silently.

Minho exhaled. “Makes four of us now.”

He didn’t say who the third person was; Lesley wondered if it was Gally.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Newt told them, wiping his eyes angrily. “Of course I bloody gave him the job. And look how much better he’s doing than me.”

“Not to burst your bubble there, Newt, but Captain Gally doesn’t have the people skills we so highly commend you for,” Minho butted in with raised eyebrows; Lesley snorted at the nickname. “He’s gonna use more brute force than reason to get what he wants, if his wrestling is anything to go by. That makes him unpredictable.”

“A loose cannon,” Lesley agreed, “and we don’t need one of those right now.” She ran a hand through her hair, the motion agitated. “I don’t know about you shanks, but I’m hanging my hopes on what Thomas says when he wakes up. That’s Gally’s biggest source of ammunition right now.”

Minho nodded in agreement. “Just let Gally handle the workload until Tomboy is back on his feet, then we’ll make a plan. Mutiny, assassination.” He shrugged. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

Newt swatted at him. “Minho,” he admonished, but he barely sounded appalled at the idea. Lesley was glad to see the flicker of a smile on his face again.

“I think we’re all just biding our time,” Lesley said quietly. “You saw Fry, Winston, Jeff. They were just as happy about following Gally as we were. We trust _you_ , Newt. Remember what I told you last night? _You’re_ the glue.”

An eternity had passed since she had uttered those words to him.

“We’re still on your side,” she continued. “You can do this; we stand with you, _and_ Thomas for that matter. I think we just have to wait out the storm.”

Newt sniffled. “This whole taking sides thing is ridiculous,” he lamented.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Minho interjected. “But it’s the first time we’ve had two opinions and two leaders lording over this shuck place.”

The rest of his thoughts went unsaid. Alby had been the one authoritative figure over everyone else; he had held the order together.

There was a creak outside in the night as Newt swallowed thickly. “Gally’s got a bloody point, though. Just about everything’s gone buggin’ mad ever since Tommy came up in the Box, but ...”

“But?” Minho pressed.

Newt shook his head feverishly. “I don’t think it’s his fault. There’s just not an ounce of lying in those eyes of his. If he says he doesn’t know, I believe him.”

“I agree,” Lesley said, folding her arms. “Especially after our night in the Maze. He was just as terrified as we were, and that’s not something you can fake. He’s not in control of anything here.”

Minho nodded. “That Teresa girl is probably as much a pawn as he is.”

Newt grimaced. “Exactly my thoughts.”

There was another quiet creak. Rolling her eyes, Lesley cleared her throat. “For shuck’s sake, come on in, Chuck.”

“Huh?” Minho asked.

Lesley raised her eyebrows, putting her hands on her hips in an unflattering imitation of Minho. “Rule number two, shank?” she asked, deepening her voice.

He rolled his eyes, shoving her shoulder. “Always pay attention.”

The door creaked open and Chuck hesitantly stuck his head in. “You heard me?” he asked sheepishly. Lesley nodded.

“Hey, Chuckie,” Newt greeted with a tired smile. His eyes were still painfully red and puffy.

Biting his lip, Chuck twisted his fingers in his shirt. “Newt, I don’t like what Gally is doing to Thomas,” he said. “It’s wrong. He doesn’t know anything, and I think it was stupid he had to Sting himself to prove a point.”

“Me too,” Newt agreed.

“Can we break him out of there?”

It was Minho who laughed this time. “Gotta wait for klunk to settle down first.”

Some of the life returned to Newt’s eyes as he nodded. “We’ll visit the pit at dawn, see if Tommy’s awake to give us some answers.”

Outside, they could hear the sounds of boys moving through the trees. They all needed to return before Gally started a search party out of pure spite; Lesley didn’t put it past him.

“Remember, it’s not over,” she told Newt quietly. She smiled tightly. “The lady hasn’t sung yet.”

Minho snorted. “Fat chance of that happening. There’s only two girls here.”

Lesley punched his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am HERE for reunion scenes.
> 
> It was an interesting opportunity to write the shift of power in the Glade since that wasn't in the movie! Gally is lashing out at everyone - particularly Thomas - because he's so angry, and Newt unfortunately gets the brunt of it. It actually kind of hurt writing him hurling insults at Newt. After the conversation with Newt the other night with Alby, Lesley knows he's at the end of his tether; this was the final straw.  
> Newt just sometimes needs the reminder that he doesn't need to shoulder his burdens alone.
> 
> And, okay, I HAD to add in the Captain Gally comment, it's one of my favourites in the books!! As well as the "Not an ounce of lying", that's such a lovely Newtmas moment in TMR! I really wanted to add that in in some way.
> 
> Feel free to add comments and kudos!! Favourite lines, what you loved; I'd love to hear it. It keeps me so motivated! Also huge shoutout to all my new readers! xx


	33. Acceptance in the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the night is endless, the Gladers search for their brothers, and Thomas keeps everyone awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I have the most inconsistent upload schedule oops)  
> Here's the next chapter! Just a heads up, the first few paragraphs are a little painful.

They toiled for hours on end, the darkness stretching for what seemed an eternity. Lesley’s skin and clothing was covered in soot and ash. Her face was caked with grime and sweat, tear tracks leaving lines down her cheeks, the salt hardening her skin.

There was blood on her hands, physically and mentally.

They found several of the survivors deep in the Deadheads in the back corner of the Glade, ironically next to the graveyard. Gally’s early warning before all hell had broken loose had miraculously saved them. They all helped one another to clean up their cuts and grazes; now the lone Med-jack, Jeff set to work stitching up deep gashes, pouring what little stores he could find of moonshine onto the wounds that had the highest chance of infection. There were more screams of pain; Lesley grew deaf to them after a while.

Once the fires were finally out, their work didn’t cease; the process of locating and burying the dead began.

Lesley had been dreading it. She was constantly careful of the piles of vomit that littered the fields from the others; the remains of their fellow Gladers were little more than that, the Grievers having torn their friends apart mercilessly. Some of the boys were mutilated beyond recognition, and only a careful count of the survivors could determine just who exactly had been lost that night.

They raided the garden supply chest they found amongst the wreckage, using any tools they could to carve up the ground. Some of the boys were laid to rest in the graveyard, but most were buried where they had fallen.

The ones they could find, that is.

Zart, Aidan, Clint, Wyck, Alby, Dan, Adam; the list grew with every passing hour. Tortured wails pierced the darkness as the Gladers discovered the fates of their friends, their brothers, one by one.

Lesley wished she could bleach her brain of the things she had seen that night. She would have voluntarily undergone another memory swipe if it meant forgetting the horrors she had witnessed, the mangled faces she had seen. Minho’s constant presence at her side was the only thing that gave her strength, and she knew he was leaning on her in turn: a grasp of her wrist here and there; a muttered thank you as she passed him a flask to wash out his mouth, his stomach contents on the ground.

No one spoke much. Their ashen faces highlighting their shadowed eyes, they all helped one another in silence. They were beyond words by that point, any emotions and thoughts simply wrung out of them through the haze of terror they had suffered, and the sheer exhaustion that plagued them.

It was a long time before Lesley realised she still had the scrap of Ben’s shirt stuffed in her pack. She buried it next to George’s resting place, shoving a stick in the ground to mark the grave.

She sniffled, patting the dirt and smoothing it out. “Take care, Ben,” she whispered. “Miss you.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

With the most dreaded tasks finished, Gally ordered them to try and sleep for a few hours before the sun rose. Despite the Griever ploughing through it, the Homestead was one of the few structures to have survived the rampage. It was a testament to the Builders’ skills. A large portion of the hammocks had been torn apart, but some were still hanging; Zart’s piece of canvas was hauntingly empty, one of simply too many. Even the mere sight was harrowing.

As she slipped past, Lesley brushed her fingers across the letters carved into one of the pillars. G-A-L. With startling clarity, a memory rose to the forefront of her mind.

_“Come on, come on, hurry,” Lesley giggled. His tongue poking out of his mouth, Gally carved a tiny letter G with the tip of his knife._

_“Newt’s gonna be shucking pissed,” Alec grinned._

_“This was your idea, slinthead! Builder initiation klunk -”_

_They had just finished and were conspicuously walking away when Newt ambled into view, humming as he lifted his tool bag off his shoulders. He paused, narrowing his eyes at the support beam in front of him._

_“Three, two, one ...” Gally smirked._

_“OI! YOU BLOODY SLINTHEADS!”_

_“Run!” Lesley squealed, giving Gally and Alec a frantic shove forward. They sprinted off across the Glade, cackling wildly as Newt’s insults chased them into the Deadheads._

She didn’t recall seeing Alec among the survivors. Now, he was little more than a name on a stone wall, an initial scratched onto a post for a stupid dare.

Choking back a sob, she shoved the memory away and headed towards her own hammock. It had somehow escaped unscathed on the outskirts of the structure. Many of the boys weren’t so lucky.

She stared out at the mass of sleeping forms huddled on the grass for a moment before stepping over to join them, grabbing her blankets on the way past.

“Take my hammock, Chuckie,” she told the boy kindly as she spotted him rolling around on the ground, struggling to get comfortable. Clambering to his feet, he smiled tiredly and nodded, his face still far too pale.

As she lay between Minho and Winston with Newt and Frypan close by, Lesley gazed up at the stars. It was a startling clear night, clouded only by faint wisps of smoke still drifting in the air. Thousands of stars dazzled overhead. She counted the brightest ones, and gave each to a member of the Glade they had lost.

It seemed so cruel for her to gaze upon such a beautiful night when her heart was wracked with sorrow, the gaping chasm in her chest torn wider with each name that came to mind. A smile, a laugh; a friend, a brother.

A strangled scream suddenly sliced through the air, raw and broken. It came from the direction of the Slammer; the Changing had well and truly begun.

Many of the boys jerked awake from their fitful dozes, blearily scrambling for their nearby weapons. However, upon realising that it was only Thomas, they settled down once more, curling tighter beneath their blankets and clamping their hands down over their ears to block the noise. Lesley listened to the rhythmic exhales of their breathing, hoping it would soothe her enough to sleep even a little.

Distantly, she realised that the Maze was utterly silent; there was no rumble of the walls shifting in the night, no tremble of the ground beneath them. It seemed they really had solved the labyrinth, but it felt like a defeat rather than the victory it had been the previous day. Their discovery had meant a death sentence for half her Glader family.

Part of her wished they hadn’t found the doorway. Maybe none of this would have happened otherwise; they could have stayed peacefully in the Glade, living out their lives as the others had done for three successive years. For the first time ever, she finally and completely understood Gally’s anger towards Thomas, uprooting their whole existence.

_She’s the last one ever._

The words on the note rang in her mind. The Box hadn’t disappeared back down the shaft; it was clear that the Creators weren’t planning to send up any more supplies. Would they have been forced to search out the doorway anyway, pushed to breaking point in an attempt to escape once the food started to disappear beyond what their crops could provide? What if the water supply was cut off?

Worst of all, despite all they had suffered that night, she couldn’t help but wonder. Would the Grievers return? Was this a final test? Would they be picked off one by one until they either had the courage or the cowardice to flee into the Maze in search of a way out? It sickened her, infuriated her, that the same people who sent them supplies to help them survive had just unleashed an entire hoard of Grievers on them.

Another scream ripped through the night, rapidly followed by another.

Finally, as a fourth scream jolted Lesley to alertness, she scrambled to her feet. After tossing her blanket over Minho to keep him warm, she set off towards the Slammer, stumbling her way through the darkness and only making a brief stop to grab a bucket of water and a cloth. She carefully avoided Gally, who had elected to take first watch just in case the Grievers returned. She prayed fervently they wouldn’t. She might have thrown herself at them otherwise.

“Only me,” she whispered to Teresa as she untied the rope lock and quietly lifted the cage door. “I couldn’t let you suffer this alone.”

She dropped into the pit as another ragged cry burst from Thomas’s throat. She knelt down beside him. “Shh, shh,” she soothed, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek. She instantly recoiled; his skin was on fire.

Without wasting a moment, she dunked her rag in her water supply and draped it across Thomas’s forehead. A wheezing cry escaped his lips.

“Thank you,” Teresa gasped.

Lesley shook her head. “Night’s not over yet.”

They set to work by the faint sliver of moonlight, frantically trying to cool his skin down in an effort to ease his suffering. When they tugged his shirt up, Lesley choked on her breath.

Dark veins crossed his body, webbing across his skin.

“It’s been getting worse,” Teresa told her. “I bandaged his leg with some of his undershirt, where he stabbed himself with that thing, but ...”

Lesley swallowed thickly, trying to steel herself as images of Alby flooded her mind. “I hope like shuck he pulls through this. This isn’t good.”

“Isn’t good,” Thomas muttered feverishly between them, his head tossing wildly. “WCKD is good. Isn’t.”

Lesley froze.

“He’s been like this for hours,” Teresa whispered. “Between the screams he keeps saying things that don’t make sense -”

Lesley shuddered. “Ben and Alby were the same when they first got Stung. I thought they were just hallucinating, going mad, but maybe they really were remembering things.” She gulped. “They kept talking about _seeing_ Thomas. Once is coincidence, but _twice_ -”

“Why ... why are we doing this?” Thomas mumbled. “Teresa ...”

She didn’t even flinch at the mention of her name, as if he had already uttered it many times before. “Who was Ben?” she asked quietly. “I heard some of the boys talking about him earlier.”

It took Lesley a moment. “He was a Runner,” she told her, swallowing thickly. “Got Stung the day after Thomas arrived. Found him in the Deadheads trying to kill him; we Banished him that night.”

Teresa’s expression crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Lesley simply nodded. She was amazed she didn’t cry. She felt emotionless, like a robot on autopilot. Maybe because she had finally laid him to rest. Maybe because she had already seen too much death that night and she was growing increasingly numb to it, detached in a way that helped her cope with the sheer loss that clawed at each and every one of her senses. That thought scared her.

She desperately wanted to mourn for her friends, her family, but in that moment she just _couldn’t_.

The mention of Ben seemed to subconsciously ignite something in Thomas’s brain. He twisted and turned, head jerking to the side. “How could this be my fault?” he muttered deliriously. “Dangerous ... accelerate the plan ... the plan ...”

Lesley felt distinctly unsettled by his words. “What the hell is he on about? Teresa?”

“I don’t know,” she gasped, staring at Thomas with wide eyes.

Thomas jerked between them, his body spasming as his neck muscles pulled frighteningly taut. Another tortured scream burst from his mouth.

Wincing, the sound grating her eardrums, Lesley ripped a shred of material from the bottom of her shirt, her fingers shaking. They hurriedly tied it around Thomas’s face, being careful of his clenching teeth; the gag barely muffled the screaming, but it was enough.

The night dragged on. They hardly spoke after that, focusing on keeping Thomas still between them as his body lurched violently every so often. Lesley didn’t realise how exhausted she was until she was jolted awake by a pebble hitting her in the face, unaware that she had even dropped off in the first place.

She jerked upright. “Oi!” she gasped, lids flying open.

Above her, Minho rolled his eyes. “Come on, shank. Need to get you back to your hammock before Gally realises you’re here and loses his klunk.”

Lesley stared at him, and then her gaze lifted to the sky. The sun hadn’t even risen yet; many of the stars were still out. Beside her, Teresa was dozing, hands cradling Thomas’s head; he was still unconscious, but mercifully silent now. The dark veins were fading.

Minho lifted the cage door and reached out a hand to Lesley. “Don’t know how you slept through that racket,” he muttered, hauling her up as soon as she grasped his forearm. “I woke up every time he made a noise. The gag was your idea? Nice.”

They set off towards the Homestead. The Glade was eerily silent; smoke rose in wisps above the splintered remains of most of their painstakingly built structures, the showers and the kitchen hut to name but two.

“I gave my hammock to Chuck,” Lesley commented absentmindedly. She just wanted to hear him speak again, wanted to hear another voice besides the agitated one in her own head.

“Ground it is, then. There’s a comfy patch of grass next to my spot. Ended up with an extra blanket somehow, too.” Minho threw her a knowing look, and she smiled back weakly.

Sometimes all you could do was laugh or cry. She figured the former was a better option. Her tears had run dry; she felt empty.

“Minho?” Lesley called softly, reaching out to grab his arm. “Are you okay?”

He turned to look at her then, and Lesley swallowed against the lump in her throat. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, exhaustion carved into the lines of his face. He looked so much older, more than a boy in his late teenage years. It was as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“No,” Minho said finally, his voice painfully quiet. “Not yet.” He glanced up at the sky and exhaled deeply. “The worst part’s over now. It’s a new dawn. I’m just tryna be ready for whatever today’ll throw at us.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Lesley reached out, grasping his hand briefly. “We’ll face it together, yeah? You and me, Newt, Fry, Chuck, Winston, Thomas, Teresa. We’ve got each other’s backs. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Minho smiled softly, the stars reflected in his dark eyes. “Never would, shank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading another chapter!
> 
> It's interesting what happens when I let go and just let my fingers type. This scene literally sprung into existence out of nowhere with no prior prompts, and it came together really well. I love the little moment with Teresa and Lesley, the two girls being there for one another - I hope you all did too!
> 
> This was an extremely hard chapter to write because my heart aches for the Gladers. I'm really thankful that this story has helped me see the Glade in a new light and from a different perspective - it's made me truly feel for the characters and their experiences (especially outside what is shown on screen) but at the same time it's made these kind of scenes so much worse, so much more emotional because now I feel like I really know these guys.
> 
> "Picked off one by one" during Lesley's thinking session is yes, another book reference. I really loved the action and tension in those scenes in TMR! (also did anyone pick up on the initials reference? Thomas spotted them back when they were waiting under the Homestead during the rainstorm, waiting for the Runners to return)
> 
> Hope you all liked this new scene! Feel free to leave kudos and comments on your favourite parts, it keeps me so motivated and inspired to hear your thoughts! (and hello to the new readers as well!) xx


	34. Unsuspecting Agents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas wakes up, the Gladers get a glimpse of their past lives, and Minho and Newt always know what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops and runs* see you at the bottom of the page!!

“Hey, I think he’s waking up,” Lesley murmured, nudging Minho.

Newt leaned closer, pressing against the wooden bars. “Tommy?” he whispered. “Come on, you dumb shank.”

Minho rolled his eyes and Chuck gave a snort of laughter, the four of them crouched uncomfortably over the Slammer, pressing against one another. It was barely dawn. Newt had shaken them all awake as soon as the sky had begun to change colour. Lesley felt surprisingly refreshed despite a mere hour or two of rest; Minho’s presence had helped immensely, his back pressed against her own as they slept.

Suddenly, Thomas opened his eyes, blinking unseeingly for a moment. He flexed his jaw in small, careful movements; the aftereffects of the gag, Lesley realised. Teresa had torn it off not ten minutes before.

Teresa peered at him upside down; his head was still in her lap. “Hey, you okay?”

Thomas blinked, once, twice. Swallowing, he finally nodded.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Chuck exclaimed.

Slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, Thomas turned to look up at the four of them. His gaze flicked about his surroundings, eyes widening as he realised he was lying in one of the Slammer’s cells. “What happened?” he asked dazedly, gripping Teresa’s arm for support.

“Gally’s taken control,” Newt explained quietly. “He said we have a choice. Either join him, or get stuck here with you.”

“I don’t think Banishing’s off the table just yet,” Minho interjected humourlessly. “He’s pretty angry at you, Tomboy.”

Thomas groaned, carefully propping himself up against the wall. “And the others agreed to all that?” he asked incredulously.

“We’ve got a bit of a shucking mutiny on our hands,” Lesley told him quietly. “We’re just trying to keep our heads down for now, but Gally has most of the shanks convinced you’re the reason all this happened.”

Thomas nodded slowly, a resigned expression settling on his features as he wiped his palms on his pants. “Well, he’s been right so far.”

Minho’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” he asked sharply. “You got your memories back?”

Thomas nodded. Lesley tensed, hands clenching. This was the moment of truth, whether they liked what they heard or not.

“This place, it’s not what we thought it was. It’s not a prison, it’s a test,” Thomas began. He looked away, exhaling shakily. “It all started when we were kids. We came from all over; they were looking for something, _someone_ , special. I don’t know what, or who. They put us in classes, and they gave us these challenges for all kinds of problem solving. They were _experimenting_ on us. They wanted to see what we would do, how we would react.”

The words came out in a rush, like he was desperate to get them off his chest. His voice trembled. “And then people started disappearing, one after the other, like clockwork.”

Realisation dawned on Newt’s face. “They were sending them up into the Maze.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, but not all of us.”

“What do you mean?” Newt asked, his brow creasing.

Thomas’s cheeks flushed with shame. “Guys, I’m one of them,” he admitted brokenly. “The people who put you here, I _worked_ with them. I helped build this place, all the calculations and systems to make the walls move. I sat up in a lab and watched you guys for _years_.”

Stiffening, Lesley glanced across at Minho and Newt, the shock barely registering on their expressions; Gally’s suspicions were confirmed. Chuck stared firmly at the ground; he sniffled quietly. Her heart thudding anxiously, Lesley felt something deflate in her chest, a desperate hope that they had all been wrong.

But she couldn’t get out of her head the words Thomas had muttered whilst unconscious, mumbling about plans and WCKD. Her blood chilled at the mere thought.

“The entire time you’ve been here, I was on the other side of it,” Thomas continued. His voice wavered, dark eyes glistening with tears. “Listening to your conversations, laughing with you, checking the Runners were back on time.” He looked at Teresa, his expression pinching. He looked to be fighting his own words. “So were you.”

Teresa stared at him, dumbfounded. She opened and closed her mouth several times before she could find her voice. “ _What_?” she finally uttered.

Thomas swallowed hard. “Teresa, we did this to them. To _all_ of them.”

“No,” Teresa said shakily. “That can’t be true.”

“It is,” Thomas confirmed brokenly. “I saw it. I _felt_ it happen, like I was experiencing it all over again.”

Lesley’s chest tightened. Of course she had known that they had lives before arriving in the Glade, but it was still so hard to fathom, the idea of another person, another version of herself who would now seem like a stranger, who had experienced the world and knew so many things she didn’t.

Newt ran his fingers across his jaw, a dozen emotions flashing across his face; anger, confusion, fear. Minho was rigid beside him.

“Why - why would they send us up if we were with them?” Teresa asked desperately, tears falling down her face. “What did we do?”

It was the same question that had plagued Lesley’s mind, that very first day in the Glade. She felt tears in her own eyes as she swallowed against the lump in her throat. “You were just kids,” she whispered.

Thomas shook his head. “I was there at the heart of it all. I _saw_ it,” he repeated fervently, as if begging them to understand. A tortured shudder ran through his body. “Flashes of faces. Labs. People in white coats, taking blood samples. Tanks of water; drowning.”

_Drowning_. Lesley shivered, jarred by a sudden memory. It had been one of the first things she had ever been aware of.

_She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs caved; she was drowning. But where was the water?_

_There was no water. Only a hard metal grate beneath her body._

“Do you ... remember _us_?” Newt pressed softly, curiosity clear in his voice. Just like Alby, he knew from the few Gladers who had survived the initial Sting that they regained some of their stolen memories during the Changing. Sickeningly, all had lost their minds by what they had seen; he remembered Justin screaming about the sun as they Banished him to the Maze, wailing about a heat so fierce that skin melted.

“Bits and pieces. Some things are clearer than others,” Thomas told them. He gave a quiet chuckle. “All of us sneaking out at night; meeting up in the basement with pillows and flashlights; climbing up onto the roof to see the stars.”

Her expression softening, Lesley leaned sideways against Newt, her chin resting on the cage bars as a sensation of quiet awe settled in her veins. The three boys beside her were much the same, all of them imagining a time they couldn’t remember but had still existed. It was strangely comforting; their lives, their memory loss, at least meant _something_.

Thomas sighed tiredly. “The last few months are clearer than everything else, but I can’t make sense of most of what I saw.” He looked frustrated. “It’s all over the place; out of context.”

Minho frowned thoughtfully. “What about Chuck and Les?” he asked quietly. “They were the last two sent up before you shanks arrived.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up, despite the desperate, _longing_ expression that clung to his face. “Were we friends, you know, before?” he asked. “Did we hang out? Have sleepovers?”

Lesley’s heart wrenched at Chuck’s yearning for a normal life, one he could only picture from the scattered notions the swipe had left him with.

Thomas’s soft smile in response was painfully genuine. “Yeah, yeah, Chuck. You were the little brother of the group,” he told him. “We always -” His gaze flicked to Lesley, and his expression darkened with guilt. His mouth clamped shut.

Newt cautiously leaned closer to the bars. “Tommy?” he called quietly. “I can see those wheels spinning.”

Lesley’s heart fluttered uneasily. She suddenly didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

Thomas licked his lips, the movement agitated. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I should say it.”

Lesley gripped Minho’s arm, needing to hold something. “Spit it out!” she snapped. Dread squeezed her chest like a vice; surely what he had to say couldn’t be _worse_ than Thomas helping the people who put them in the Maze?

“Les, I don’t know how to put this; you - you had an _incredible_ imagination,” Thomas said, features twisting in aguish. “You wrote about the wildest places; people, creatures. They noticed and pulled you aside. You - shit, Lesley, you helped them design the Grievers.”

The ground reeled beneath her, Lesley’s face draining of colour. She would have toppled backwards if not for Newt and Minho tightly gripping her shoulders on either side, their own faces awash with horror. “What?” she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible.

But then she remembered the Maze. The day she had faced down the Griever, when it had her backed up against a wall, trapped.

“A white room,” Lesley choked out. “Rows of desks.”

Thomas stared, his mouth falling open. “You remember? When?”

“What?” Newt asked sharply.

Lesley gulped. “When I saw that Griever in the Maze, right after I became a Runner, I - I had this vision or something.” She averted her gaze. “I don’t think I was supposed to.”

Newt tried to keep his expression impassive but found himself failing. His mind reeling, he suddenly recalled what Alby had said months before. _“There’s something funny going on. Can’t explain it, but I have a gut feeling that she can’t know about them. Like an itch in the back of my brain ...”_

Minho gaped across at him with the same revelation, the pieces visibly falling into place across his features. All that time ago, Lesley asking if they might have known each other before the Maze; the implication that she had remembered _something_.

Thomas broke the heavy silence. “They asked you to draw for them; brought in stuff to inspire you. You didn’t know why.” His hand shook as he anxiously ran it through his hair. “It’s all a bit hazy, but I remember a couple months back I showed you the monitors we used to watch the Glade, and you saw the Grievers for the first time. You recognised them from your sketches. Realised they had been killing the people we knew.”

Lesley sank back in shock, pressing her face into her hands. The world had staggered to a halt around her, her mind spinning out of control.

Newt stared at her, dumbfounded. As the seconds ticked by, a wretched anger began to line his face. “Maybe that’s why the Griever didn’t kill you back then, Les,” he said in a hushed voice. “They wanted you to _look_ at what you had created.”

Minho shook his head slowly in disgust, shaking with rage. “The sick shuck bastards.”

Lesley swallowed. Her windpipe constricted painfully; she had to force her next words out. “Thomas, _please_ , do you remember anything after that?” she begged.

Something had happened. She had no doubt about it. If Thomas’s timeline was accurate, her discovery of the Grievers had resulted in her expulsion to the Glade.

Satisfaction flashed across Thomas’s features. Finally, he had the courage to look Lesley in the eye again. “The only thing I saw was a report of an explosion or something in one of the labs. I guess you got in and destroyed all their research.”

“To stop them creating more,” Lesley whispered, filling in the blanks.

Thomas nodded. “You disappeared after that. Next thing I remember is watching you up on the Outpost with Newt. Must’ve been a couple days later.”

Lesley remembered that moment like it was yesterday. It was a bizarre thought to her that while she had been experiencing her own First Day, tormented by the yawning chasm in her mind, Thomas had been sitting somewhere watching them with the exact knowledge of who she was; who they _all_ were.

Minho started, letting out a low whistle. “Les, you fought the shucking _Creators_.”

Lesley laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it? Look where it got me. Stuck in a Maze and with no memories to boot.”

But there it was. A glimpse of the person she had been. A stranger in another world, one where she hadn’t had to fight tooth and nail to survive ... and yet had the strength to do what was right in the face of overwhelming terror, of her friends dying before her eyes. A different person, yes, but simultaneously one and the same.

Her bottom lip trembled.

“I’m sorry, Les,” Thomas said wretchedly.

She shook her head frantically, unable to stop the tears falling down her cheeks. “I as good as killed them,” she choked out. “Zart and Alby and Clint and -”

Newt wrapped an arm around Lesley’s shoulders. “No, _no_ , Les. You didn’t know.”

“I know,” she sobbed, scrubbing her eyes with her fists. “I _know_ I didn’t. But I may as well have handed those Creators a list of people to kill. Their blood is on _my_ hands.”

It was the Griever breakdown all over again; she had forced her emotions into a box in the back of her mind for the entirety of the cleanup that night. Now, the box had been ripped open; the numbness had been replaced by a sharp ache in her chest. She could hear the screams all over again, see the faces of the terrified boys as they were dragged into the darkness - and by creatures she herself had unknowingly designed.

Hands touched her own. Minho gently tugged her fists away from her face, ducking down to look at her. The dark circles beneath his eyes were suddenly very noticeable. “Listen, shank,” he said, a quiet steel to his voice. “Do you blame Thomas and Teresa for helping put us in this place? For watching us day and night and doing klunk all to help us?”

Thomas visibly flinched. Lesley sniffled, shaking her head. “No, of course not -”

“Now, tell me something,” Minho interrupted, his voice low. “When you were staring down those Grievers with that single torch, when you stabbed them and leapt over the shucking things, did you want to save them?”

“No!” Lesley exclaimed again, aghast.

“Okay. Then tell me what makes you different, shank. What makes you different from the slintheads who made the Grievers?”

“Because I -” Lesley fell silent.

_Because she fought back._

She had arrived in the Glade with something to prove. For months, she had tried to show that she was as good as the boys, that she deserved her place in the Glade; that she was strong, and brave, and everything else those shanks were.

Whatever she did, it was never at their expense. She was willing to save her friends, to protect them, to run into that Maze every single day even after facing a Griever, and that’s what made her different from the Creators. It was a strength that she hadn’t even realised she had, a piece of her past self that had lain dormant. It was the part of her that stood up to the monsters, all alone in the middle of the Glade save for a torch and a spear. The part that refused to lay down and die; that stood up for what was right, no matter what.

She smiled weakly. “Because I’m Lesley.”

Minho stared blankly at her for a moment, but then realisation dawned across his features and a wide grin split his face. “That’s my shank,” he said, a strange note of fondness to his voice.

Newt and Chuck stared at them in confusion; Thomas looked even more staggered. “Why don’t you guys care more?” he asked, drawing their attention again. “I was part of an experiment on everyone here. I mean, Lesley’s more upset at herself, and she barely did anything. _Why_ aren’t you angry with me?”

“Do you want us to be?” Minho asked.

“No. _Yes_.” Thomas exhaled deeply, wiping his eyes. “Whatever you say, I still did it. _We_ still did this to all of you. We helped them; it doesn’t matter how we defend ourselves.”

There was a lengthy pause. “He’s right,” Newt said softly.

Everyone turned to look at him. Lesley shifted, her brow furrowing; Minho was still holding one of her wrists loosely.

“It doesn’t matter,” Newt continued, his voice low and kind. “ _Any_ of it. Because the people we were before the Maze don’t even _exist_ any more. These Creators took care of that.” He leaned heavily on the bars, peering down at Thomas with a fierce determined, dark eyes flashing. “But what does matter is who we are right now, and what we _do_ right now.” He smiled suddenly. “You went into the Maze and you found a way out!”

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t, Alby would still be alive,” Thomas countered, voice trembling with devastation.

Newt fell quiet, his face tightening with pain. “Maybe,” he whispered, the word barely audible. “But I know that if he were here, he would be telling you the exact same thing. _Pick your arse up_ and finish what you started.” He swallowed hard. “Because if we do nothing, then that means Alby died for nothing, and I can’t have that.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, Lesley nodded in agreement. They owed it to Alby. They owed it to every Glader who had lost their lives that night.

His shoulders lined with tension, Thomas was silent for a long moment, carefully watching him. Newt stared straight back, his expression unwavering.

Finally, Thomas exhaled sharply through his nose and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, but we gotta get through Gally first.”

Lesley lifted her chin, her eyes flashing dangerously. She had a score to settle with that slinthead. “Leave that to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've honestly been a little anxious about this chapter because I felt it had a lot resting on its shoulders hahah. Hope you enjoyed it!! So yes, Lesley's mysterious connection to the Grievers has finally been revealed; it was so nice finally wrapping up the pieces of that puzzle! Connecting to Lesley's flash of memory way back at the start of the story, and the penny dropping for Minho and Newt.  
> I also expanded on Thomas's dialogue in the film, adding in little pieces of memories here and there.
> 
> On a side note, I stumbled across a One Direction song "Walking in the Wind" and I think it's perfect for these guys, and this scene?! "Goodbyes are bittersweet, but it's not the end, I'll see your face again" then "You will find me in places that we've never been, for reasons we don't understand" and I was like!!! When they all reunited back in the Glade but had no idea they all knew each other before!!
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for reading another chapter, I hope it lived up to your expectations. Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos!! It keeps me so inspired. See you all next update xx


	35. Double Crossings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesley has a score to settle, Thomas is an excellent actor, and the Glade divides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with a regular update! Enjoy xx

Lesley was silent as she stormed over to Gally, the sun passing midday over her head. She snatched a couple of the tools from his belt and slammed them against the stone. Half the names from those lost in the night had a thick line through them already.

“Nice of you to join me,” Gally said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Finished consorting with the enemy now, have you?”

Lesley snarled. “Do not speak to me about that piece of klunk -”

Gally frowned, scoffing. “What happened to dropping everything to defend the Greenie -?”

“Well, I was wrong!” Lesley yelled; Gally flinched. “I was wrong, okay! I admit it! I thought he was my friend, but that piece of shuck betrayed us instead!”

There was a pause. “He remembered?” Gally asked sharply.

“Yeah. He’s one of the shucking people who landed us here in the first place. Same with Teresa,” Lesley snapped.

Gally blinked. “Teresa?” he repeated, features twisting victoriously. “Knew it.”

Lesley grunted, stabbing her tools at the stone. “I bet that’s why Thomas ran into the Maze for us,” she growled. “It’s all making sense now. The ultimate way to earn our trust. Pulling the dumb shank card and then helping us survive. He knew those Grievers wouldn’t kill us. The whole thing was a shucking setup. I thought I was going to die that night, but _thank the Creators_ , it looks like _someone_ had other plans for us.”

Gally shifted at the sarcasm. She didn’t dare look at him.

“And then tracking the Griever device through the Blades, it was like he _knew_.” Shuck, Lesley had never acted as hard as she had in that moment. “He knew exactly what to do, and like an idiot I trusted him to take the lead. I was dumb enough to trust him over Minho, my Keeper, and now look what’s happened. Just like you told Newt. None of us saw the signs when they were right - in - front - of - us!”

Her tools hit the wall harder to the beat of her words, driving deeper notches into the stone, a horizontal line across one of the names. _Zart_.

His screams continued to ring in her ears, his terrified expression a split second before the Griever yanked him away into the darkness etched painfully into her memory. His face blurred with Ben’s in her mind.

Tears burned Lesley’s eyes, and she squeezed her lids shut, causing the water to well and spill from the corners, streaming down her cheeks.

“I wanted it so bad, Gal,” she gasped. “To see what was out there, to solve that shucking Maze and _leave_. But after last night ...” She shook her head. “This is _home_.”

Her hand ached as she slammed her tools against the hard stone, again and again. “I had to watch my friends die, they were screaming, _begging_ , but I _couldn’t_ -”

Violent tremors wracked her body, the tears pouring like a dam bursting. She was no longer acting; it was all she could do to wrangle the last shreds of resolve she had left.

Gally tentatively reached out and grabbed her wrist, stilling the frantic movement of her hands. “We’ll fix this,” he said quietly. “He has to pay for what he’s done.”

Lesley realised he could have shouted “I told you so,” yet he hadn’t, despite their earlier arguments. She felt an odd surge of respect for him.

She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, forcing herself to calm down. _Remember why you’re doing this. Remember the plan._

She imagined Minho standing at her side, his comforting words in her ears. How he always said how strong she was, and proved it to her when she disagreed. Then there was Newt; how much he believed in her even when she was at her lowest point.

Her lids flying open, Lesley stared at the wall with the darkest expression she could muster, her vision still blurry with tears. Her breath came out in short, heavy pants. “Can we Banish them?” she asked. Her voice wavered dangerously. Good.

Gally shook his head. “He’s already survived the night. I wouldn’t trust him out in the Maze again, not both of them.” His gaze drifted to the main Doors. A calculating expression crossed his features. “Leave it to me, Les. I’ve got an idea.”

The coldness in Gally’s eyes was frightening in its sincerity. Lesley shivered. “Lambs to slaughter?”

Gally paused. “I wouldn’t call them lambs, but yeah. We’re handing them back to the Creators.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Their numbers fewer than ever, the remaining Gladers gathered as it reached mid afternoon. The sun shone brilliantly over their heads in stark contrast to the ominous atmosphere surrounding the primary entrance to the Maze. A fierce scowl on her face, Lesley’s foot tapped anxiously against the ground. She eyed the two newly erected posts that foreshadowed events to come.

Five figures moved towards them from the direction of the Slammer. Well, she reasoned, technically four. Wes was shoving Teresa forward, her hands bound behind her; beside them, Eric and Scott had Thomas’s limp form slung between them, his feet dragging on the ground.

Gally stood impatiently at the threshold, his arms crossed, watching the proceedings as the small group reached them. He sighed as Thomas was dropped on the ground. “This is such a waste,” he lamented.

Lesley felt someone nudge her shoulder; it was Minho, coming to stand beside her. She raised her eyebrows in question, and he nodded silently; they were ready.

“Gally!” Winston called, grabbing his attention. He shook his head, his features twisting in anguish. “It doesn’t feel right, man.”

Gally stared at him incredulously.

“Yeah, what if Thomas is right?” Jeff interjected loudly, gesturing to the Maze as Frypan stepped up beside him. “Maybe he can lead us home.”

Gally stepped closer. “We _are_ home,” he emphasised. His expression tightened, flickering with pain. “Okay? I don’t wanna have to cross any more names off that wall.”

Lesley bowed her head, her heart clenching. To see the lines through their carefully carved names had been like a dagger to her chest. It had been even worse to cross them out herself; she had stayed long after Gally had left to carry out his new plan, paying her respects in the best way she could, in the only way that seemed fitting.

“You really think Banishing us is gonna solve anything?” Teresa piped up.

Gally was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. His gaze flicked to Lesley. “But this isn’t a Banishing. It’s an offering.”

“ _What_?” Teresa gasped as she was roughly shoved back against one of the newly erected posts; Wes yanked her hands above her head and began to tie them to the pole. “Wait, Gally, what are you doing?”

Lesley bit the inside of her cheek. _That’s right, come on. Bait him._

Gally whirled around to face Teresa, his features lined with anger. “You really think I’m gonna let Thomas back into the Maze after what he’s done? Look _around_ you!” he shouted at the other boys. “Look at our Glade! This is the _only_ way!”

Tilting his head, Newt absently scratched his chin with his finger, subtly signaling to Minho and Lesley as he glanced sideways at them; Minho nodded in response. Unnoticed by everyone, Chuck edged closer on the verges of the group, several spears twice as tall as him held tightly in his hands, a large pack on his back.

“And when the Grievers get what they came here for,” Gally continued, his voice shaking with conviction, “everything goes back to the way it was.”

Teresa stared incredulously at the other Gladers, her eyebrows raised. “Are you listening to this?” she exclaimed, tone pitched with disbelief. “Why are you all just standing there? He’s crazy!”

“You shut up,” Gally growled.

But Teresa didn’t stop. “If you stay here, the Grievers are gonna come back. They’re gonna come back, and they’re gonna keep coming back until you’re all _dead_!”

It was like a ripple effect. The boys began to shift uncertainly, rocking on their heels as they glanced at one another.

It did not escape Gally’s notice. “Shut up!” he snarled, voice cracking like a whip. He pointed at Thomas, still lying motionless on the ground. “Tie him up!”

When the two boys standing on either side of Thomas didn’t move, their faces shifting with doubt, Gally’s expression turned furious. “Did you hear me?” he yelled, glaring daggers. “I said tie him up!”

Finally, Eric and Scott bent down, unceremoniously dragging Thomas to his knees. Minho reached out and squeezed Lesley’s shoulder. To anyone else standing there, it looked like a simple gesture of comfort, but not to her.

_Now or never._

The terror was far too easy to recall; she thought back to the previous night, how she had felt being surrounded by the Grievers, that terrible moment when she truly thought she was going to die. Lesley forced herself to stumble backwards into Minho, wincing as she trod on his foot. “Oh, shit!” she screamed, pointing at the Maze with a look of sheer horror on her face as both Minho and Newt drew their blades in one swift motion.

Heads jerked in sharp, panicked motions. The two boys hauling Thomas to his feet rapidly loosened their hold as their gazes snapped to what they realised was an empty corridor.

But it was the split second they needed. All hell broke loose.

Thomas elbowed Eric in the stomach as hard as he could, sending him stumbling. In the same instant, he snatched the spear from Scott, smacking the boy around the head and sending him crashing to the ground as he did the same to Eric.

Newt smacked one of Gally’s friends on the back of the head with the hilt of his blade, knocking him down as he sprinted forward to join Thomas at the Doors. Running at his side, Lesley punched another Glader, the boy sprawling as Minho pressed his blade to Gally’s neck, his cold expression saying _don’t even think about it_.

Teresa kicked out at Wes, knocking him backwards, heavily winded. Rushing over to her, Frypan reached up with his own blade and cut Teresa free as Chuck ran to join them, the packs thudding uncomfortably against his body.

His blade still pointed at Gally, Minho slowly backed away towards the Maze entrance, coming to a stop beside Lesley as she drew her own machete, the two of them standing with their weapons pointing outwards, mirroring the others.

Gally stared at them, his gaze drifting across the group before landing on Thomas. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he spat. “And so are _you_.”

He glared at Lesley; she fought not to shrink back under his mutinous expression. “It wasn’t _all_ acting,” she snapped, swallowing thickly.

Thomas’s hands tightened on the wooden spear he was pointing in Gally’s direction. “You don’t have to come with us, but we _are_ leaving,” he told him firmly. He glanced at the other Gladers. “Anyone else who wants to come, now is your last chance.”

“Don’t try to listen to him,” Gally ordered, glaring at the boys around him. “He’s just trying to scare you -”

“No, I’m not trying to scare you,” Thomas cut him off. “You’re already scared, alright? _I’m_ scared.”

Even Gally looked surprised by the admission, his body going rigid.

Thomas shook his head jerkily, his hands shaking. “But I’d rather risk my life out there than spend the rest of it in here. We don’t belong here. This place isn’t our home. We were put here; we were _trapped_ here. I went through the Changing. I _know_ what I saw.”

Several of the Gladers glanced at each other, their expressions shifting uncomfortably. The tension in the air was suffocating.

Lesley tightened her grip on her machete. “Those Doors aren’t gonna shut again and you all know it,” she said. “Teresa’s right; we stay here, and those shucking Grievers are gonna kill the rest of us. There won’t be anyone left to cross the names off that wall.”

Gazes flicked to the marked area of stone.

Thomas nodded sharply in agreement. “At least out there we have a choice,” he implored, his eyes begging them. “We can make it outta here. I _know_ that.”

The air was eerily quiet, like the whole world was holding its breath.

And then Winston stepped forward. “I’m with you guys,” he said. Newt nodded, passing him a spear.

A moment later, so did Jeff. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to Gally as he walked past.

Chad stepped up to Lesley and Minho. “Where you shanks go, I’ll follow,” he told them with uncharacteristic sentiment. He smiled tightly. “It’s just another day in the Maze, right?”

Minho clasped his arm in response. As she nodded back, Lesley felt her heart clench.

Several more boys hesitantly moved to stand at the Maze entrance, what was at first a group of seven becoming a small crowd of thirteen - a little over half the survivors from the previous night. However, nine Gladers remained behind Gally, some faces stoic, but others woefully unsure.

“Gally, it’s over,” Thomas told him when no one else came forward. “Just come with us.”

Lesley swallowed against the lump in her throat. All of a sudden it was frighteningly real; they were leaving and would not be coming back. Anyone who chose to stay was as good as dead. Despite their arguments, her stubbornness, his pigheadedness ... she wasn’t prepared to give up on him just yet. “Please, Gal,” she whispered. “Remember what Alby used to say? We only have each other; we gotta stick together. _Please_.”

Gally stared at them for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Good luck with the Grievers,” was all he replied.

Lesley’s heart shattered.

A wretchedness swept over the group in a crushing wave. Minho gripped Newt’s shoulder; Jeff bowed his head, leaning against the spear Chuck had given him; Frypan bit his lower lip, exhaling shakily. Thomas simply stood there, his shoulders slumping.

Lesley knew it would take a lot of courage to stay and face the Grievers. But it was going to take a lot more to leave the place she had called home for the entirety of the short life she could remember, where she had worked, laughed and played; where she had made friends, where she had _chosen_ her family.

She turned away, shoving past the crowd of boys until she was standing in the shadows of the ivy corridors. “Come on, let’s go!” she called, putting as much strength into her voice as possible even as tears burned her eyes. “We’re burning daylight!”

There was only one way to go now: straight down the path to Section Seven.

With the heavy thud of footsteps, the others turned and followed her into the Maze, leaving the Glade far behind them.

Into whatever fate awaited them beyond the Doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wounds of the previous night are still incredibly raw for Lesley, even more so than she first thought. And Gally ... isn't as much of an asshole as he could have been?! He still cares about Lesley, no matter how angry he's been at her.
> 
> It's been kinda interesting, I've been reading through the first 15ish chapters again and I was like "wow this is so lighthearted and cute" and then I skipped ahead to the latest chapter and omfg the change in mood gave me chronic whiplash *laughs* *cries* I honestly miss all the happy moments. I know there's more to come, but goodness they were so happy in the Glade together.  
> It makes these scenes hurt a little bit more. It was a way of saying goodbye to the Glade; Lesley knows she will never be returning.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter!! I'm honestly so excited to post the next one, I'm in the final editing stages for it and it's one of my favourites. (We're so SO close to the end now eek!!)  
> Feel free to comment and/or leave kudos, it keeps me so inspired to write! :) see you all soon! xx


	36. The Final Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Maze won't let them escape so easily, the Gladers' numbers dwindle, and Lesley's memory is put to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna post tomorrow haha but here we are! Enjoy xx

“Everybody, this way!” Thomas shouted. “Keep it up, guys, we’re almost there!”

Lesley almost found herself cracking a smile, watching the incredulous faces of the boys around her as they craned their necks, gawking at the labyrinth with unabashed curiosity. They had changed paths several times at Thomas’s request after he took the lead, but all the corridors led them back to the main thoroughfare, guiding them in the direction of Section Seven as the sun began to sink towards the horizon.

“Les, take the helm!” Minho called abruptly, straying towards the rear to make sure no one was left behind. “Thomas, watch the side for a minute!”

“On it!” Lesley yelled back, picking up her pace and moving to the front. Thomas dropped back to the middle of the pack beside Newt; his limp was now more obvious than ever.

She felt an odd sense of power and responsibility, leading the Gladers onwards, hearing the clatter of steps behind her as they surged after her into the depths of the Maze, past the Narrows to the outer ring. It was a strange thrill for her. Away from the Glade and Gally’s threats, they could finally breathe again; there was an undeniable feeling of hope to the air, a quiet excitement that they might finally be escaping.

“Keep it up, guys, we’re almost there!” Thomas hollered.

They surged through another towering corridor, the red painted seven looming over them. Lesley felt her own jaw drop open in amazement at the sight beyond; the Blades had aligned themselves to form one single, perfect path.

“Minho!” she shouted.

“I know, shank. Keep going!”

They followed the route laid out before them, and before Lesley knew it they had reached the stone walls again on the outermost edges of the labyrinth. As she stretched out and brushed her fingers against the cool rock, Thomas fell into step beside her. “There,” he said, pointing.

The shadowed doorway lay just ahead.

Both Runners began to slow, the Gladers behind them doing the same. Swallowing thickly, Thomas glanced cautiously around the corner. “Les,” he whispered.

She peered over his shoulder. Her blood ran cold at what lay waiting for them at the end of the runway; prowling, guarding. “Shit,” she swore quietly.

“Is it a Griever?” Chuck whispered, his eyes wide.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah.”

It was as if the courage inside Chuck deflated instantly, the boy slumping back against the wall. “ _Shit_.”

“Language,” Newt muttered half-heartedly. It didn’t ease the tension as he had hoped.

Unease spread through the group like a plague. Lesley realised she had been wrong. The invasion of the Glade hadn’t been the final test; _this_ was. The other had been a deliberate scare tactic to bring them out of hiding, to pit them against one another and weed out the ones not willing to take the necessary risks to escape, to survive.

To brutally fracture their society so completely beyond recognition they could never hope to return.

Minho retrieved the Griever device from his pack. “You take this, Chuck,” he said, passing the capsule to him. “Stay behind us.”

Lesley nodded. “We need you to protect it. It’ll open the door at the end for us.”

Looking momentarily overwhelmed by the responsibility, Chuck nodded, his chubby hands clutching the device tightly as he looked it over with wide eyes. Thomas reached out and gripped his shoulder, noticing that he was shaking with fear.

“It’s okay,” Teresa told Chuck kindly, smiling softly as she quickly tied her hair back with a piece of twine. “Just stick with me.”

Lesley glanced around at the other Gladers. “Go for the stomach,” she urged them. “It’s got a hard outer shell, but its underbelly isn’t as protected. _Use_ it to your advantage.” She glanced around the corner again. “And for the love of all shuck, stay away from that edge; there’s a sheer drop on either side of the catwalk.”

The boys and Teresa nodded silently, looking undeniably nervous.

Minho took a step closer to Thomas. “You have your memories,” he told him quietly. “Take the lead.”

Thomas glanced at Lesley, seeking confirmation. She nodded firmly, her chin lifting. “You know what’s waiting for us on the other side; I trust you,” she said without a trace of hesitation.

“We’ll follow you all the way,” Newt agreed, his dark eyes certain.

Relief flashing across his face, Thomas exhaled heavily. “Okay,” he nodded. “Okay.”

“What’s the plan, brother?” Frypan asked, passing spears to Lesley and Winston.

There was a pause as Thomas collected himself. “Once we’re through, the device will activate and the door will open,” he told them. “We stay close, we stick _together_ , we get through this. We get out _now_ , or we die trying.”

Minho nodded firmly in agreement. “Thomas is right. You get hurt? Hurt ‘em back. You get killed? Walk it off.”

Lesley sniggered under her breath. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she muttered, mouth twisting in an attempt to conceal a grin.

However, some of the boys suddenly looked less scared.

Visibly steeling himself, Thomas took a deep breath. “Ready?”

All of them nodded resolutely. Minho reached into his pack to pull out his machete again, arming both hands. Adrenaline thrummed in Lesley’s veins, her body shaking with anticipation, with terror, with hope that they might actually make it out of the Maze.

It suddenly hit her: this was _it_.

“Alright.” Thomas straightened up, every line of his face hardened with determination as he slammed the butt of his spear into the ground. “LET’S GO!”

And they were off, all of them sprinting around the corner and down the corridor in a battle charge, yelling at the top of their lungs. Lesley let the roar of noise fill her veins, a war cry of her own tearing from her throat.

The Griever screeched at the sight of them, a high pitched wail that shredded Lesley’s nerves as it charged towards them with the hideous clanking of metal, gunk flying from its open jaws. Creators above, it looked even more grotesque in the light of day than she remembered.

_Clank, clank, clank, hiss -_

They didn’t stop; couldn’t stop; if anything, they ran faster, _faster_. Her hand gripping her spear in a white-knuckle hold, Lesley put on a burst of speed, darting into the front ranks between Thomas and Minho, everyone raising their weapons, a buffer between them and the rapidly approaching monster, bracing -

And then they were there.

They ducked forward and rammed the jagged ends of their spears into the underbelly of the creature, combining their strength and forcing the Griever up and away from them towards the edge in a flailing mess of limbs and metal.

The sheer strength of the Griever took most of them off guard. “Get up, look out!” Minho roared as half the boys clambered back to their feet.

Infuriated, the Griever shrieked, the piercing sound ripping through their eardrums. Faces contorting in pain, the Gladers drove at it with their spears, forcing it backwards inch by grueling inch, bodies drenched with sweat.

“Push it!” Thomas bellowed.

Lesley’s feet skidded as the Griever shoved back. Newt jabbed his spear at one of its slitted eyes with as much force as he could muster; the creature stumbled and roared furiously, limbs flailing.

With a soft, threatening hiss that filled Lesley with terror, it suddenly reared up, drawing itself up to its full, terrifying height, staring down at them. There was the clink of metal -

“DUCK!” Lesley screamed, plummeting to her knees.

It flung its mechanical ringed tail across them in a deadly swipe; everyone dropped to the ground, the air parting over their heads. The pronged end of the limb twisted into existence and snatched Lee - one of the last Gladers to join them. It flung him over the edge so fast he was a blur of colour, his screams fading within seconds.

“No!” Jack cried as horrified gasps broke free of the other Gladers.

Snarling, the Griever slammed one of its pincers into the concrete barely two feet from Thomas and Frypan, fracturing the stone beneath them in an alarming series of cracks. Gritting her teeth, Teresa swung her machete and sliced through the limb.

The jagged pincer edge snapped off and ricocheted, slamming into Chuck. The device went flying from his hands, clattering noisily across the walkway. “The key!” he howled, darting after it.

“Chuck, watch the edge!” Teresa screamed, giving chase.

Lesley whipped her head around, eyes widening. Chuck grabbed the canister in his pudgy hands just as it toppled over the edge; Teresa seized his rucksack straps to keep him from falling, hauling him backwards.

The bellowing roar of the Griever dragged Lesley back to where she was.

Whirling around, she slammed her spear into the Griever’s side, all the Gladers shoving at the creature with all their might, feet slipping and skidding. Lesley had Thomas and Minho on either side, pressing against her body, the boys crowding together tightly, uniting as one force as the Griever was pushed back - _back_ -

With another piercing screech and a flail of mechanical limbs and loose wires, the Griever plummeted over the edge and tumbled into the abyss, the darkness swallowing it up.

The Gladers cheered wildly, crowing and screaming obscenities after it. Lesley’s heart hammered painfully in her chest as a disbelieving laugh burst from her throat. “Come on, the door!” she yelled, waving her arm.

“Thomas!” Chuck screamed, reaching them. “THOMAS! We got more coming!”

Another roar split the air, then another. A weight dropped in Lesley’s stomach as two more Grievers surged up onto the far end of the walkway from either side.

“Oh, _shit_ \- get to the doorway!” Thomas roared, shoving Chuck ahead of him.

Panic swept through the crowd of Gladers as they turned and bolted as one, huddling together to protect Chuck and Teresa as they darted towards the wall at the end of the passage, creating a barrier between them and the Grievers.

“Keep it steady, guys!” Thomas yelled.

The Grievers were upon them in seconds. Wood and metal clashed against entwined steel and flesh. The cacophony was indiscernible, screams and shrieks and roars of sheer fury erupting from both sides.

With the thunderous clanking of gears and the harsh grating of stone sliding together, the door began to slide open behind them. Laughing giddily, Chuck stared at the device in his hand in amazement. “It worked!”

Thomas spun around. “Teresa, go!” he yelled when she stopped, her expression torn as she stared at the other Gladers.

There was another scream; someone else was pulled over the edge.

Lesley snarled. She couldn’t handle a repeat of last night. She couldn’t. Blood thundered in her ears; she couldn’t bear to see these boys die, hear their screams of agony as the life was torn from their bodies; not after everything, not when they were so shucking _close_.

_Shuck the Creators._ She was finished playing by their rules. 

Her eyes ablaze, Lesley roared furiously, seizing her machete with her spare hand.

“Don’t, shank!” Minho yelled, fingers snagging her shirt.

She slipped past him, lunging forward and ramming her blade into the nearest Griever’s eye as hard as she could. Barely giving it a chance to react, she yanked the weapon free and darted underneath, plunging the blade into its soft underbelly and jerking it sideways, slicing the Griever open in a foul spray of gunk that reeked of rotting flesh.

The shriek that tore from the Griever’s jaws as it stumbled backwards was louder and more piercing than anything they had ever heard; the other Gladers cried out in pain; Jack dropped his spear to slam his hands over his ears.

“Get out of there, Les!” Frypan shrieked as they tried to keep the second Griever at bay.

Her face plastered with blood and grime, Lesley wrenched the blade free with a gasp. Cold sweat drenching her, she began a frantic crawl towards the Gladers. The Griever’s abdomen rippled as it reared up, towering over them. Its metal tail unfurled, snapping into the air like a whip as its leg jerked upwards, the Stinger unfolding from within the twists of wire and metal.

“Les, watch out!” Chad yelled, running forward.

“Chad!” Newt shouted, snatching at him but missing.

Chad grabbed Lesley’s outstretched hand and yanked her towards him, flinging her back into the crowd of Gladers, the concrete grazing her arms in a blaze of scorching heat.

Her thanks died in her throat. The other Griever launched itself at Chad, grabbing him in its pincers and tossing him across the catwalk. He crashed into the ground, tumbling head over heels -

“Chad!” Lesley screamed, scrambling to her feet -

He toppled off the ledge with a shriek of terror.

“NO!” Minho roared, voice pitched with horror. Lesley could only stand there in shock, staring at where he had disappeared, the chasm of grief in her chest ripping wider.

The Grievers were upon them again, more determined than ever, bearing down with brutal force.

“Don’t back down!” Thomas yelled. “Keep pushing!”

“Stay together!” Newt bellowed, stabbing out with his spear.

They were getting herded backwards now, but in the direction _they_ wanted; down, down, down the narrow passage towards what they desperately hoped was their way out. They were dead otherwise.

Teresa clambered down the circular black tunnel after Chuck as the door spiraled open. When they were faced with another solid metal wall, she slammed her fists against the surface in frustration, fingers scrabbling at the edges. “There’s gotta be a way out!” she shouted as Chuck frantically waved the device in front of it, both praying for a miracle. “Come on!”

Another boy - Peter - jabbed his spear at the Grievers. One of them grabbed the stick of wood and yanked the Glader forward, catapulting him over the edge.

“Shuck!” Lesley swore desperately, a ragged, hysterical sob tearing from her throat. This was it, they were all dead; they were boxed in with no way out. “What’s taking you so long?!” she roared over her shoulder.

The Grievers lunged. “Watch it!” Thomas yelled.

“Thomas, it won’t open!” Teresa suddenly shrieked.

Minho jerked his head. “Lesley, go help them!” he yelled.

Obeying, she stumbled back through the crowd of boys, her chest heaving as she reached Chuck and Teresa. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted, her gaze darting wildly across the wall. She gulped down air, forcing herself to calm down, to think clearly; she reached out towards it. “There must be _something_ -”

As soon as she touched the surface, it burst into life with a high-pitched electronic screech, a digital orange circle appearing in front of them. Lesley watched with wide eyes as the display began to rotate into numbered rings, a shifting pattern of tiny corridors and pathways that emanated from a single square in the middle. _The Glade._

“It’s the Maze,” she gasped, watching the spinning circles. “It’s _the_ map.”

Teresa looked over her shoulder. “Thomas!” she yelled. “There’s a code. Eight numbers!”

His jaw fell open. “Eight sections of the Maze. Hey, Minho!” Thomas yelled over the noise as he ducked a flailing Griever limb. “The sections of the Maze, what’s the sequence?!”

“I got this!” Lesley shouted back at them. “Seven, one -”

Her fingers shaking, Teresa frantically punched the numbers in, selecting the specified digit on each rotating circle.

“Five, two, six, four -”

Hearing a screech, Newt looked upwards and his face contorted in horror. “Heads up!” he roared.

Bolting back down the passage towards the boys, Lesley had barely glanced up at the Griever rapidly descending down the shaft towards them when it crashed heavily on top of Minho.

“MINHO!” Lesley screamed.

Newt had to scramble to wrap his arms around her fast enough to stop her from launching herself at the Griever. “Keep _back_ , Les!” he yelled. “MINHO!”

All logical thoughts had fled her mind; Lesley suddenly had but a single brain cell careering around her brain, screaming _don’t die don’t die don’t die_ in an infuriating loop as she stared in horror, fighting against Newt. “Min!”

“Get off me!” Minho snarled at the Griever, his spear pressed against its bulging throat, its teeth barely inches from his face. His arms shuddered with the strain, the muscles pulled sickeningly taut.

With a roar, Jeff launched himself forward, plunging his spear into the soft flesh of the Griever’s side, just beneath its shell. He stabbed it again and again, face twisted with rage and stark terror. As the Griever lifted itself clear, Minho frantically scrambled out from under it, Lesley and Newt hauling him to safety.

Screeching, the Griever jerked its head. Jeff shrieked in agony as a mouthful of razor sharp teeth slammed down around his torso.

“NO!” Lesley screamed.

“JEFF!” Winston cried, Frypan desperately holding him back as the Griever stumbled off with its prey.

The two dominant Grievers surged towards them, crowding into the tunnel until they were all inhaling the stench of decay; pushing the Gladers back, _back_ -

“What’s the sequence, come on!” Chuck howled.

“Oh, shuck,” Lesley swore, darting back to join him. “Where were we, where were we -”

“Six!” Minho yelled to them. “Four! Eight!”

“Three!” Lesley shouted desperately.

“You got it?” Minho roared.

The Grievers shrieked, lunging closer and closer, teeth barely feet away. “Keep holding!” Thomas bellowed, standing alongside Newt as the two of them jabbed their spears at the Grievers. “Almost there, come on!”

The numbers on the screen disappeared, the circular display lighting up a blinding neon green as a single word flashed in front of their eyes:

**_COMPLETE_ **

Teresa let out a choked gasp of amazement.

“We did it!” Lesley screamed.

Suddenly, the dividing walls hovering over the passage began to bear down, thousands of tons of stone dropping towards the Grievers and slamming against the ground with an alarming ferocity. The boys frantically clambered into the circular tunnel as the first Griever was trapped out of sight, all of them scrambling towards Lesley, Teresa and Chuck as the digital green display flickered out of existence, all of them cramming so tightly against one another Lesley couldn’t tell who was who.

The one remaining Griever lunged at them as the stone wall behind it crashed shut, the world quaking around them. Thomas launched his spear at it, sending the Griever stumbling backwards. It released a bellowing roar that was viciously cut short as the final wall plummeted with the precision of a guillotine, crushing the Griever to a pulp. A vile brown sludge sprayed out from beneath the stone, splattering the Gladers with muck as they stood there panting in the sudden, ringing silence.

Without warning, the door spiraled shut, plunging them all into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Haha please excuse those couple of Captain America references)
> 
> I loved loved loved writing this scene!! Especially the frantic moments trying to put in the sequence code. The adrenaline was pumping writing this, had all these epic movie soundtracks playing as I wrote it.
> 
> Finally, FINALLY, they're escaping the Maze. I've been waiting for this moment for so so long. Been steadily writing the end over the last few weeks and it's been awesome to reach this point! It's been great adding in all the little character moments. Even just by being there, Lesley changes some of the actions and dialogue.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Please leave kudos or comments, I really appreciate it :) xx two chapters to go, see you soon!


	37. Unknown Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boldly going where no Glader has gone before (aka Lesley sees their lives from another side, the Gladers are unsure if they want to know the truth, and a message is delivered).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all at the end of the chapter!! Enjoy xx

Claustrophobia clawed at Lesley in the devouring blackness. She couldn’t see anything; she could only hear the ragged breathing of the people around her. She reached out blindly, managing to snatch someone’s arm. A hiss of surprise as nails dug into soft skin. “Sorry,” she gasped.

“It’s okay, shank,” panted a voice right beside her. Minho.

There was the screech of metal, a dull clanking sound, and a vertical crack of light split the darkness in front of them, blindingly bright. Lesley winced, her hand flying up to shield her eyes.

Reaching out, Teresa shoved at the metal wall. It swung open with a hair-raising shriek; a _door_. She hesitantly stepped through the opening, and one by one, the others followed. No one spoke, the air thick with tension.

As she followed Frypan and Newt out, Lesley’s jaw fell open. They were standing in a long narrow concrete corridor, the linoleum floor beneath their shoes dulled with grime. Boxed lamps lit the space at regular intervals, casting shadows over the metal pipes running just below the ceiling. She had only seen similar things in the scattered memories she retained after the memory swipe.

“What now?” Winston murmured.

Looking around, Lesley realised with horrifying clarity just how few Gladers had survived the fight. Chuck, Teresa, Thomas, Frypan, Newt, Minho, Jack, Winston. Nine, including herself. Out of the forty-something people she had known back in the Glade; _nine_.

“This way,” Thomas whispered, starting forward.

Cautiously, the others followed him, all of them sticking together in a tight group. The lights flickered ominously, the place eerily silent; there wasn’t another sound to be heard apart from their panted breaths and the light pad of their footsteps. The air was chill around them; Lesley shivered.

Eventually, they came to a door on the left side of the wall. Above it was a green-lit sign displaying a cartoon running man. _Exit_ , it read.

“Seriously?” Frypan groaned.

Lesley bit her lip. “It can’t be that simple,” she whispered. “Not after all that.”

Throwing her an uncertain look, Thomas twisted the handle with agonising slowness and pushed the door open, all of them wincing as the hinges screeched in protest.

The scene changed so abruptly it was like whiplash.

Sparks exploded from the lamps over their heads, lighting the space in horrific flashes. Lesley gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth as nausea rocketed through her.

_Bodies_.

There were several of them, men and woman alike strewn carelessly across the linoleum, all of them in white lab coats; one of them still clutched a clipboard to her lifeless torso. Blood splattered the walls; the air reeked of death and decay.

They crept through, keeping to the middle of the corridor and doing as little as possible to disturb the scene, none of them sure what they had stumbled upon. On their right was a hospital room of sorts; two covered bodies lay on gurneys, blood oozing through the white sheets.

Minho stared at them, face contorting. Gulping, Newt grabbed his shoulder and gently pushed him onward. Lesley shivered, looking away as bile rose in her throat.

They passed another body. This one was dressed in all black; a gun lay just beyond his lifeless fingers.

“What happened here?” Winston whispered.

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know.” His voice was barely audible as he pushed open another door.

The adjacent room was large enough that the entire Council Hall could have fit inside. Wheeled chairs were strewn haphazardly in front of immense glass screens, half their electronic displays still intact. The lamps flickered haphazardly above them. There were more bodies on the linoleum, more white lab coats.

_White-coats_. Lesley frowned. _Why did that sound familiar?_

Her gaze drifted to the set of screens in the centre of the room, the glass skewed and cracked, and abruptly found herself staring at her own face; a person she had glimpsed in buckets of water. A gasp tore from her lips as she stepped closer.

There were head shots of all of them, of every single person who had ever stepped foot in the Glade. Every couple of seconds, the images pixelated and flickered, shifting between profile and frontal images. Half the photos were several years old, taken before some of the boys had entered the Maze. Minho and Newt looked particularly young as they stared solemnly at the camera; the latter was pouting, his hair sticking up on end.

Inset into the corner of each picture was a letter and a number. “A-4,” Lesley whispered, eyeing her own caption.

Minho hovered at her shoulder. “A-7,” he murmured.

“A-8,” Frypan muttered.

Lesley peered at the display, squinting her eyes at the tags. Thomas, A-2; Newt, A-5; Chuck, A-3; Winston, A-13; Gally, A-9; Alby, A-6. Every single one of them had a label.

“Just like an experiment,” Newt realised darkly.

Swallowing thickly, Lesley moved, forcing herself to look around. There were multiple screens covering one side of the outer wall, and her heart stuttered in her chest as she realised that all of them showed different viewpoints of the Glade; the Homestead, the Map Room, the Deadheads, the gardens. There was even a camera pointed at the entrance of the Maze, tucked just inside the first corridor.

“Newt?” Lesley called shakily.

Frowning, Newt quietly stepped up beside her. Both of them watched the few boys milling around the Glade, their eyes wide as they stared at the place that had been their home, their safe haven. Lesley felt ... she felt _violated_. These people had seen every single thing that had happened to them; from the data scrolling alongside the screen, they had been making notes, too. The log on display was set to the day before.

**_0530 :_ ** _[A-8] serves breakfast to [A-7] and [A-4]. [A-5] spoke to them briefly before returning to Sector 12 to continue observing [A-6]. [A-9] chopping wood. Other subjects still asleep._

**_0555 :_ ** _[A-7] and [A-4] release [A-2] to Sector 22-C to observe rules of the Maze. Encounter [A-1]. Conversation held._

**_0610 :_ ** _[A-7], [A-4] and [A-2] enter the Maze. No change on [A-6]._

**_0712 :_ ** _[A-9] openly hostile to [A-1], defended by [A-5]._

It went on, recording every single moment in frightening detail. Every single moment they had lived and experienced for themselves, laid out on the screen before them like a story.

**_1504 :_ ** _[A-7], [A-2] and [A-4] activate door #356 [keyword/escape]._

**_1506 :_ ** _Subjects in Glade report ground shaking, the Maze shifting. [A-5] gathers [Keepers] at Maze entrance. Other subjects join._

**_1507 :_ ** _[A-7], [A-2] and [A-4] complete objective._

“So they _were_ watching us,” Newt uttered in amazement. “This _whole_ time.”

Lesley shivered, her mouth suddenly dry. Swallowing hard, she turned around. “Thomas?” she called hoarsely, seeing him standing at a nearby control panel. “Is this like how you remember?”

He glanced up at her just as he pressed a flashing button on the console. “Yeah.”

One of the glass panels against the far wall flickered to life, a video pixelating itself into existence. A woman wearing a cream suit jacket sat in front of the screen, her blond hair tied back in a bun, her lips bright red against her pale face. Behind her, various people in lab coats moved around the room, observing various monitors and digital displays ... in the same room the Gladers themselves were standing in, Lesley realised with startling clarity.

The woman smiled warmly. _“Hello. My name is Doctor Ava Paige.”_

Everyone else whirled around at the unexpected voice that flooded the room from hidden speakers, freezing as they stared at the image. Lesley hesitantly stepped closer.

_“I’m Director of Operations of the World Catastrophe Killzone Department,”_ she informed them. _“Otherwise known as WCKD for short. If you’re watching this, that means you have successfully completed the Maze Trials.”_

“The what now?” Lesley murmured as Newt and Minho came to a stop beside her, all the surviving Gladers now gathered in front of the screen.

“The hell ...?” Frypan muttered.

“WCKD,” Minho breathed, realisation flooding his voice. “The same letters on the supplies and the Griever device. It _was_ them.”

_“I wish I could be there in person to congratulate you, but circumstances seem to have prevented it.”_

She paused, peering at them sympathetically. Lesley shivered at the unnerving sensation of her steel eyes penetrating the barrier, as if transcending both time and space to deliver her message. None of them could take their eyes off the screen, all of them transfixed.

_“I’m sure by now, you must all be very confused, angry, frightened. I can only assure you that everything that’s happened to you, everything we’ve done to you, it was all for a reason.”_

Lesley felt Thomas go rigid next to her; Newt inhaled sharply.

_“You won’t remember,”_ Paige told them, _“but the sun has scorched our world. Billions of lives lost to fire, famine, suffering on a global scale.”_ She shook her head. _“The fallout was unimaginable.”_

Images began to flood the screen. A glaring sun, wildfires; ruins of collapsed cities, people in rags begging on the sidewalk, crowded refugee camps; bodies lining the streets, the beaches, some covered in dirty white sheets but many out in the open as crows feasted on the rotting, emancipated carcasses.

The Gladers shifted, a devastating mix of shock and disbelief on their faces. Thomas’s eyes flickered. Lesley’s mouth fell open, her eyes brimming with tears as she was filled with a gaping sense of horror. _This_ was the state of the world outside of the Maze walls? 

The Glade truly was the paradise it had claimed to be all along; a paradise these people had created for them, and then _forced_ them from.

_“What came after was worse.”_ A pause. _“We called it the Flare.”_

The images shifted to show a microscopic view of a blood sample. There was a black void across the bottom section of the specimen, the cells a dark murky colour. As they watched, they began to multiply rapidly, devouring the surrounding specimen at a shocking rate.

Another image of someone’s head being split open, their blackened brain pulled aside to reveal a sickening tar-like substance that filled the rest of the head cavity. Lesley thought she was going to be sick, the colour draining from her features as bile surged up her throat again. She forced it down; barely.

Another video recording from a surgical lab; a man spasming violently on a gurney with grotesque black veins spiderwebbing across his entire body, his darkened eyes glinting with a feral light as he gnashed his teeth and screamed.

_“A deadly virus that attacks the brain,”_ Paige explained simply. _“It is violent, unpredictable, incurable ... or so we thought. In time, a new generation emerged that could survive the virus. Suddenly, there was a reason to hope for a cure.”_ She smiled tightly. _“But finding it would not be easy. The young would have to be tested, even sacrificed inside harsh environments -”_

“No,” Lesley choked out. _Ben, Alby, Clint, Zart, Jeff, Chad -_

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Minho squeezed her shoulder.

_“- where their brain activity could be studied. All in an effort to understand what makes them different. What makes_ you _different.”_

Thomas’s expression flickered with dawning realisation, his eyes shining with dreaded horror; Minho swallowed thickly, his expression hardened; Newt stared at the screen, unable to look away even as a muscle feathered in his jaw.

Winston shifted at an unexpected flash of light on the screen. “Look,” he breathed.

The lab behind Ava Paige was falling into chaos. Sparks flew sporadically from the ceiling, monitors flickered, scientists ran around frantically in clear panic.

_“You may not realise it, but you’re very important.”_ She abruptly sat straighter, adopting a businesslike manner. _“Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun,”_ she informed the Gladers. _“As you will no doubt soon discover, not everyone agrees with our methods. Progress is slow; people are scared.”_

Behind Paige, armed soldiers surged into the lab, ruthlessly firing their weapons. Glass shattered in violent bursts around the room. Scientists dropped to the ground.

Paige shook her head. _“It may be too late for us, for me, but not for you. The outside world awaits. Remember ...”_

She reached down and pulled a gun from beneath her desk, raising it to her head. Chuck flinched in realisation of what was about to happen; Frypan gripped his arm.

Paige smiled. _“WCKD is good.”_

Lesley rocketed backwards into Newt at the ear-splitting roar of the gunshot, jerking her eyes away as blood splattered across the screen. Her breathing came out in short, uneven pants as she fought to look everywhere - _anywhere_ \- but the screen as Ava Paige’s corpse slumped out of view. She swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she gasped to Newt.

He shook his head, his hands tight on her shoulders to keep them both steady. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen, a glazed look on his face.

Thomas shifted; he carefully pushed past Lesley and Newt, taking a step closer to the office in the corner of the lab. The other Gladers slowly turned, gazes suddenly transfixed on the body lying on the floor - the woman they had just watched put a bullet through her head. Lesley shuddered at the sight of her creamy white outfit smeared with red like an angel of death.

_WCKD is good. Isn’t._ The words Thomas had uttered amidst his Sting-induced visions. Lesley ran a hand through her hair anxiously; what the _hell_ was going on?

The short piercing blare of a klaxon shattered the quiet, so loud that she and Winston slammed their hands down over their ears. With the whir of machinery, a set of thick metal doors slid open to their right. The corridor beyond was pitch black.

Slowly lowering her hands, Lesley inhaled sharply, an intense curiosity flooding her veins. It was that same spark she had felt entering the Maze for the first time, that same sense of anticipation and wonder. Hope flared in her chest. _A way out_.

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Is it over?” he asked quietly, looking up at Thomas.

Newt’s brow creased in confusion. “She said we were important,” he uttered. “What are we supposed to do now?”

His words cut through the rose-tinted haze in Lesley’s mind. She thought back to the video message, the heavy weight of dread settling in her gut. “Your trials have only just begun,” she repeated, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She let out a hysterical laugh, tears burning her eyes. “What did she mean? I thought escaping the Maze was supposed to be the end of it?”

“Maybe it was, at some point,” Newt said quietly.

After a long moment, Thomas shook his head jerkily. “I don’t know,” he breathed, staring down the passage, the wheels visibly spinning in his mind at a frantic rate. He swallowed thickly. “Let’s get out of here,” he said finally, starting forward.

“ _No_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this one for a few days before a major editing session last night. It took a bit of tweaking but here it is, on time which I didn't expect! Life has been getting in the way this week.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed this latest chapter! It's so satisfying seeing all the loose ends being tied up.
> 
> Also, yes, I switched Lesley and Chuck's numbers. For some reason that was always how it made sense in my head. It was cool adding in the little note with everyone seeing their pictures! And the log!! That was so much fun to format, let me know if you liked it too! I feel like the numbers were a deliberate tactic by WCKD to stop the staff becoming attached to them.
> 
> ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!! I'm so excited, and so scared. I've been working on this since last year - and especially the last five months - and this story has meant the world to me. I'm so happy and grateful to have been able to share it with others.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos!! It keeps me motivated like you wouldn't believe. See you all soon xx


	38. Sacrifices and Saviours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone unexpected arrives, the world falls into chaos, and the sun is blistering hot ... or some would say SCORCHING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTER *do do doo do*  
> I can't believe we're finally here!! Gah, I've been working so hard to finish this chapter. I'm so excited to share this last one with you all, enjoy! xx

The sharp, forceful word sliced the air like a blade. Lesley whirled around at the familiar voice, her mouth falling open in disbelief at the boy standing in the middle of the lab.

It was Gally.

He was barely recognisable. Her gaze drifted over his disheveled appearance, the hairs rising on her arms. Violent tremors shuddered through his body, his features contorted with pain as sweat poured down his face. His eyes flickered with a wild, crazed look.

_The same as Ben._

The other Gladers stared, thunderstruck. Winston gasped audibly; Newt inhaled sharply, Frypan grabbing his shoulder.

Thomas took a careful step towards him. “Gally?” he called softly, visibly stunned.

“Don’t!” Lesley barked warningly, gripping his arm to hold him back. “Thomas, he’s been Stung!”

Newt and Minho’s eyes snapped back to Gally, both of them stiffening in realisation as they caught sight of the veins creeping up his neck. She was right.

Lesley flinched as Gally let go of the metal canister in his hand, the object clattering to the floor and rolling under one of the desks; it was the Griever device.

_How the shuck? Chuck must have dropped it -_

Her thoughts reeled. Gally had gotten past the surviving Grievers; if events had played out the same, he would have put in the code. He knew the Maze sequence.

_Gally had been a Runner at some point._

Gally sniffled. “We _can’t_ leave,” he whispered. His other hand shuddered violently against his thigh, drawing their attention.

He had a gun, his knuckles white around the weapon.

Lesley could hardly breathe, her chest so tight with panic, with terror, it made her head swim nauseatingly. Gally was infamous for his short, sharp bursts of irritation, a fiery explosion of anger that was quickly doused. This was far, _far_ scarier; where Ben had gone feral, Gally’s emotions were distant and frighteningly controlled.

Thomas went rigid, his face paling. “We did,” he told him shakily, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Gally, we’re out. We’re _free_.”

Gally choked out another sob. “Free?” he repeated incredulously. His eyes flicked around the room, settling on the dark corridor behind them. “You think we’re free out there?”

Thomas’s expression pinched.

“No,” Gally continued, shaking his head. “No, there’s no escape from this place.”

Tremors shuddering through his arm, Gally jerkily raised the gun and aimed the barrel directly at Thomas’s torso.

Panic swept through the group. Lesley cowered backwards, her eyes widening as she looked frantically between the two boys. The other Gladers dropped into defensive stances around her, all of them flinching away from the weapon. Chuck quaked in his boots, his face shockingly white.

“Gally, listen to me,” Thomas implored desperately, beads of sweat trailing down his face.

Lesley knew Thomas was the last person Gally would listen to. Swallowing thickly, she forced her terror aside. “Hey, Gal, it’s me,” she said softly. “It’s Lesley.”

His eyes flicked to her.

Lesley fought back a shiver at his distant stare. “We don’t mean any harm, okay? Looks like the Grievers were a little rough with you, eh?”

She glanced frantically at the others; finally, they seemed to understand.

“The shank’s right,” Newt told Gally gently. “Whatever the shuck’s in that Stinger, it’s gone about messing with your head, yeah?”

“We can help you, man,” Frypan interjected quietly. “Really. Just put that dang thing away for us, will ya?”

The tension in the room was suffocating.

Gally’s fingers tightened around the weapon. “I belong to the Maze,” he whimpered.

Lesley shuddered. _He belongs to the Maze now_. The same words Alby had spoken when they had condemned Ben to the labyrinth ... and to the Grievers.

“Just put the bloody gun away, Gal,” Newt begged desperately. “Come on, slim yourself down.”

Lesley slowly reached for her dagger, fingers tightening around the hilt.

_“Second, never harm another Glader ...”_

Gally shook his head, his features twisted in anguished torment. “I belong to the Maze. We _all_ do,” he sobbed.

“Gally, no!” Lesley screamed as he pulled the trigger.

Chaos erupted. The air exploded with the deafening roar of the gunshot; Chuck shoved Thomas backwards into Lesley, her dagger soaring through the air and shattering one of the glass screens; Minho’s muscles pulled taut as he grabbed his spear and threw it as hard as he could, sending Newt crashing into Winston as Minho shoved past him.

A wheezing, gasping sound tore from Gally’s throat, the spear imbedded in his torso just below his left shoulder. The rasping noise came again, his eyes clouding over before his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor on his side, unmoving.

Lesley choked out a shuddering, broken sob, agony rocketing through her torso and tearing at the fragile crevices of her heart. _Gally was gone._ Another boy she would never talk to again, laugh with, wrestle with. Every time she turned away, another Glader lost their life, another friend, another brother. The world reeled around her; shuck, she couldn’t _breathe_ -

_Not Gally_. She stared, fixated on his limp form, her eyes burning. He had meant everything to her once upon a time; he still did. Shuck, and all she’d ever done those past few days was argue with him, and yell at him. She wanted desperately to claw her way back through the passage of time, to the nights they spent wrestling, to the flasks of moonshine they shared, to the structures they built together, dancing in the rain -

Chuck whimpered. “Thomas,” he choked out.

All eyes turned to him ... and everyone saw the blossoming red patch on his chest, the blood rapidly seeping through his clothing.

“Chuck!” Thomas gasped, catching him as he collapsed. The two of them crashed heavily to the cold floor, Thomas crushing a hand to the wound to stem the blood as everyone crowded around, eyes wide with horror. “Oh, shit. _Shit_. Look at me, look at me!”

Her recollections shoved aside, Lesley tumbled to her knees beside Chuck’s head as he gave a gurgling, ragged cough. “Chuck, come on, come on,” she begged, running a hand through his mess of brown curls. His eyes were already glazing over; her heart thundered unevenly in her chest. “Stay with us.”

“Oh, _shit_ \- Chuck, look at me, just look at me, alright?” Thomas implored desperately, shaking his shoulder. “I got you, buddy, just hang on. It’s okay.”

Tears streaming down her face, Lesley glanced around wildly, a cry, a desperate scream for help faltering in her throat; all the people here, all the adults, were dead; they were alone. Minho knelt down beside Lesley, his eyes glistening. Newt joined them, bracing his hand on Thomas’s back, visibly shaking.

Whimpering, Chuck grabbed Thomas’s shoulder, his knuckles painfully white. “Thomas, Thomas,” he gasped, a trickle of red dribbling from the corner of his mouth. With shaking fingers, he held up a small wooden carving.

Blanching, Thomas shook his head fervently. “No, _no_ , Chuck. You’re gonna give it to your parents yourself,” he told him determinedly. “Remember? I told you that.”

“Take it,” Chuck pleaded weakly. “Take it, please. _Please_.”

Thomas’s resolve visibly crumbled. Exhaling shakily, he wrapped his hand around Chuck’s much smaller one, fingers brushing the carving, the figurine slick with blood.

There was the ghost of a smile on Chuck’s face; he finally looked at peace. “Thank you,” he whispered, the colour draining from his features. “Thank you, thank you ...”

“Oh, shit,” Lesley sobbed as he began to trail off. “Chuck? Chuck!”

Thomas gripped his hand tighter. “No, Chuck, you’re gonna get -”

He cut himself off as Chuck exhaled a low groan, his head rolling back against the floor as a final gasp left his lips. He stilled.

“Chuck?” Thomas whispered. He gave him a gentle shake. “Chuck? Hey.” Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “Hey, Chuck, come on!” he begged. “Come on, wake up!”

Chuck’s eyes only stared sightlessly upwards.

Thomas finally broke down sobbing, pressing his face into the boy’s chest. “Damn it!” he wailed. “Damn it!”

Lesley felt an arm clamp around her shoulders; she sagged into Minho, collapsing into a mess of tears as her fingers slipped from the curly locks of hair.

Chuck had been just a child, she wanted to scream. He deserved a normal life with a mum and dad, going to school and making friends with his endearing charm that drew people in like a magnet. Not this shucked life he had been given. Chuck should never have had to stare down the barrel of a gun.

Lesley hiccuped out another broken sob; Minho’s grip tightened around her, his damp cheek brushing her forehead. Newt clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling the cries of loss that threatened to overcome him even as tears poured down his own face. Frypan looked devastated as Winston leaned against him for support, his face shockingly pale.

“We made it, come on!” Thomas howled in anguish. “I’m sorry. God damn it! Damn it!”

There was the jarring clank of another door opening. It came from the far end of the dark corridor they had been staring down minutes earlier, a moment that already felt centuries old; a time where Chuck hadn’t been brutally ripped away from them, where Gally had remained in the Glade. Daylight flooded the passage, and a horde of people in dark clothing swarmed into the lab, guns and rifles slung across their chests.

“It’s alright, we’ve got you!” one of them shouted. Lesley could barely hear; it was like she was underwater, everything muffled but the thunder of blood in her ears. “It’s alright!”

The men began to grab the dazed, grief-stricken Gladers one after the other, wrenching them to their feet with a harried sense of urgency and herding them towards the blinding light at the end of the corridor. Newt was hauled upright and shoved roughly after Frypan. Jack and Winston were right behind them.

Pushing herself off the wall, Teresa exhaled a sob. “Thomas,” she called weakly, shaking his shoulder.

“Get up, Chuck, come on!” Thomas screamed, clutching at him.

One of the men dragged Minho to his feet. “Come along, son!” he muttered gruffly.

Lesley threw one last desperate glance at Thomas as Minho grabbed her own arm and yanked her off the floor; one last glance at Chuck, at Gally. A goodbye choked in her throat, a painful lump in her chest that threatened to suffocate her, her eyes burning with tears. Unfamiliar hands shoved at her, pushing her after the other boys. She couldn’t focus on anything but the warmth of Minho’s palm against her own.

It took two men to drag Thomas away from Chuck. “Chuck!” he yelled. He struggled against the soldiers. “You can’t just leave him there!”

Lesley bit back another sob, tears pouring down her face. _They couldn’t even bury him._

“CHUCK!” Thomas roared again.

Lesley blocked the heartrending sounds from her ears, gripping Minho’s hand tighter as they burst through the entranceway and into a searing heat that tore what little air she had left from her lungs. It was so blindingly bright in contrast that both of them staggered to a stop, clutching at each other’s arms; Lesley’s vision exploded with white and yellow hues, incapacitating her for several eternal seconds until her eyes finally adjusted.

They were standing in a desert, sinking ankle-deep into sand. The few remaining Gladers were stumbling ahead of them, the soldiers ushering them towards a waiting chopper, the blades stirring up a storm of sand around them. Hissing, Lesley slit her eyes against the flying grit.

Newt faltered, his bad leg shuddering. He waited for the two Runners to catch up, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he stared at something behind them. Lesley threw a final look over her shoulder, and her jaw fell open at the giant concrete wall rising up behind them, a gasp shuddering through her torso.

The words _WCKD SITE A_ were stamped across the surface in thick white paint; the same style as the numbered sections in the Maze.

The Gladers scrambled onto the aircraft. Minho clambered up and hauled Lesley in after him, Newt cramming in beside her. “Tommy!” he yelled.

Lesley’s gaze snapped to him. “Come on, Thomas!” she shouted hoarsely as he stumbled through the sand towards them, stretching out a hand to him.

His face pale and raw, Thomas reached them seconds later, the men slamming the door shut behind him. Newt gripped his shoulder to hold him steady as he tumbled into the craft beside him, gasping for air and still covered in blood. _Chuck’s blood_.

One of the soldiers remained in the cabin with them. He yanked his balaclava off, straggles of long hair falling across his kind face. “You guys alright?” he shouted over the noise of the chopper.

The Gladers stared at him, blatantly shellshocked; covered in blood, grime and muck, they were a truly frightful sight. They glanced at one another uneasily, their nerves as shredded as the clothes on their backs. Lesley’s chest was still painfully tight.

The man smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now! My name’s Carl. We’re getting you out of here!”

The helicopter lurched, and suddenly they were taking off into the air. Pressing herself against the bulkhead, Lesley exhaled sharply at the unexpected feeling of weightlessness, her stomach heaving. She realised she hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand.

Newt peered out the window, his mouth dropping open. “Guys,” he whispered hoarsely.

Lesley carefully leaned past Newt and Thomas, Minho pressing against her own shoulder. The other Gladers crowded around, all of them staring at the sight below. What Lesley saw rendered her utterly speechless.

“No way,” Winston breathed.

It was the Maze, the entire structure laid out before them like the model in their hut, miles upon miles of concrete and ivy; the scale was frightening. Lesley could see the towering Blades, the Narrows, the Inner Ring; every single corridor she had ever run, where she had worked, trained, and faced her greatest fears every day for months on end.

And then, right in the centre like a vision of paradise, was the lush green square of the Glade, the treetops still visible and smoke rising in lazy piles from the middle of it. Her breath hitched in her throat.

Newt turned away, shock and disbelief clouding his features. Minho slumped back, his expression crumbling. Lesley felt a lump rise in her throat; she had only known the Glade for two months, but many of these boys had lived there for _years_. Frypan looked just as dazed as he leaned against the far window; Jack’s eyes were shockingly wide; Winston stood there with his mouth agape, eyes glistening and hands shaking.

The churning devastation on their faces broke Lesley’s heart. “We’ll be okay, guys,” she choked out, reaching forward to squeeze their knees in turn; reminding them they were _there_ for each other.

“Relax, kids,” Carl told them, watching the exchange. “Everything’s gonna change.”

They wordlessly kept their eyes trained on the window, watching as the Glade and the surrounding stone passageways grew smaller and eventually disappeared into the haze of the horizon. The chopper continued on its course, flying the group of haggard, injured and dismayed survivors across the barren desert wasteland stretched out before them, dwarfing the already gargantuan Maze walls.

Exhaustion slammed into Lesley in a crushing, obliterating wave. She had hardly slept since ... she couldn’t even remember. The night they had injected Alby with that blue serum, yes. She sank back against Minho, her shoulder wedged against Newt, and let her eyes close as the steady thrum of the craft lulled her towards sleep. She felt Minho rest his head atop hers.

Their escape from the Maze had not been the victory she had imagined, that had spun like a dream when Minho had picked her up and whirled her around, his laughter ringing in her ears. They had gotten this far, but had lost too many of their brothers. _Alby. Chuck. Jeff. Ben. Zart. Clint. Aidan. Adam. Chad._ _Gally_. Countless other boys with whom Lesley had shared drinks, worked alongside, laughed with at the firepit during dinner.

She ran the names through her head in a silent mantra. She would not let their deaths be in vain, even as she felt her heart being torn to shreds inside her. Ava Paige’s words rang in her head; she hoped desperately that all of them had suffered for something worth fighting for.

They had gotten this far, and the outside world was now waiting for them.

It was time for the Gladers to find out what truly lay beyond the walls. And maybe, just maybe, they would find a place they belonged.

A place to truly call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was the grand ending you were all expecting!!  
> This was a tough chapter to write in more ways than one. Not just because of Chuck (omfg I bawled my eyes out writing this) but tying all the end little pieces together and have it end on a satisfying note.
> 
> Now, another thing -
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for reading!! This has been a rollercoaster ride, I'm truly so happy to have finished the first installment of this series! It started off as a truly indulgent story, and uploading it has given me such motivation to work on it. I'm super proud of it! Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has read this, commented and left kudos. I appreciate every single one of you, and your feedback has always made my day and kept me smiling.
> 
> If you have a spare moment, leave in the comments what you enjoyed most, no matter when you're reading this! Favourite lines, scenes, moments that stuck out for you etc. It would mean the world to me.
> 
> Once again, thank you for being here with me, and I hope you'll stay to join Lesley and the Gladers on the rest of their journey! Subscribe for the notification or just keep checking my page in the next few weeks :) <3 you're all amazing!! xx


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